this is not a temporary love (now my heart is in your hands)
by littleoldrachel
Summary: in which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall into a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway. or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin (part 1)
1. Pull over, let me drive for a while

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for this chapter: references to awful parenting, vomit & a panic attack.

* * *

 **1\. "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."**

It's quiet in the car; above the gentle thrum of the engine, and the occasional crunch of shifting gears, the only sounds are Sirius' shaky breaths every now and again. Remus had suggested having the radio on – Sirius _loves_ singing along at the top of his lungs when he's driving – but Sirius had shied away from the idea.

That, more than anything, worries Remus – more than the painfully few possessions Sirius has bought with him that are now scattered loose across the backseats, more than his insistence that _he_ would drive, because " _please_ , Moony, I need to feel in control of _something, fuck_ ," more even than the overly-bright eyes that are fixed on the road ahead. His silence is troubling because Sirius is _loud,_ he is _bright,_ Sirius was born to shine, and right now, he has been stripped of that, stripped of everything that makes him so _Sirius._ They've been driving for _hours_ , they're safe now, _Sirius is safe,_ they're a far enough distance away – only Remus can't help but think that they'll never be far enough away; Sirius is never going to completely outrun the emotional scars that years of neglect and abuse have inflicted upon him.

He presses his forehead against the cool window, and forces himself not to think about that, forces himself not to remember how sad and _broken_ Sirius looks when he's been told to " _get out, get out and never come back_." How even though they have treated him in the worst possible ways, even though they've damaged him and hurt him, they are still his parents. How Sirius can't help but cling to that tiny thread of hope that whispers that they love him regardless of everything he is, everything he can't help.

Remus never wants to see that thread be snapped ever again, never wants to watch the light in Sirius' eyes vanish.

Instead, he focuses on watching the darkness streak past his window, the gloom intermittently interrupted by a burst of golden light from another car's headlights. If James were here, he would know exactly what to say, Remus thinks bitterly, and allows himself a moment of self-loathing for being completely _useless_ , before he pulls himself together again. Sirius called Remus, not James, so clearly Sirius wants him here –

In fact – Remus still doesn't know why Sirius called _him_ and not Best Friend James, only knows that he drove like a demon the second Sirius had called him in tears, breaking every single speed limit and most of the Highway Code until he'd reached Sirius (and it still wasn't fast enough).

(If he's being honest with himself though, Remus would drive in to Hell if Sirius needed him to – but now is not the time to think about that particular heartache).

Sirius suddenly lets out a sound like a sob being ripped from his chest, tries too late to disguise it as a cough, and Remus can't take it anymore –

"Padfoot," Remus says softly, and either Sirius doesn't hear him, or he's just ignoring him. His breathing is a little more laboured, but his gaze his still determinedly fixed on the road ahead.

" _Sirius,"_ Remus says, gently putting his hand over Sirius' on the gearstick. Sirius starts a little, looks at him with a heart wrenching, lost expression, then back at the road, and he's trembling, his hands clenched tight on the wheel, but he's still _shaking_.

"Pull over. Let me drive for a while." He leaves no room for argument in his tone, and thankfully, Sirius doesn't try and fight it. (Again, this is uncharacteristic, and Remus' stomach is clenched in concern, and his heart is _aching_ for him, this is so unfair, so wrong wrong wrong-). Sirius pulls in to the next layby, and immediately gets out of the car, the door slamming behind him.

Remus clambers out too (shuts the door more gently, because really, this car is old, and he cannot afford to replace a thing right now), and rounds the other side of the car, just in time to catch Sirius as he vomits all over the grassy verge. Sirius' knees buckle, and he falls against Remus, crying in earnest.

"They're my parents-" he says through gasping sobs, "they're my parents and they fucking-"

"I know, I know," Remus tightens his grip, pulling Sirius in to a hug. It's a little tricky, given Sirius' height, but they settle on the ground in between the car and the spattered vomit. Sirius presses his face in to Remus' soft stomach, and Remus runs his fingers through Sirius' hair in what he hopes is a soothing manner. He's so afraid of fucking this up – he wants to ring James and ask him what to say, he wants to gather Sirius in his arms and never let anything hurt him again. His heart is throbbing with concern and anger and sadness, but he can't put all of these feelings in to words, so he just holds Sirius tighter, and lets him cry himself out on the roadside.

Remus has gone almost entirely numb before Sirius speaks again – it's deceptively cold, despite being a July night – but he's more concerned about Sirius in just a t-shirt than himself, so it's a relief when Sirius finally mumbles:

"Can you drive?"

"Of course," Remus replies immediately, and the two of them shakily stand up.

Remus settles in to the driver's seat, adjusting the mirrors and headrest to accommodate for his shorter frame. Beside him, Sirius puts his seatbelt on, and then hesitantly reaches for Remus' free hand, intertwining their fingers. He rests his head against the window, avoiding eye contact, and Remus takes that as his cue to set off. The handholding makes it a little awkward to drive, but he doesn't let go, and they drive in a thoughtful silence for a while.

Eventually, Sirius reaches over to the console, and turns the radio on, fiddling with the dial until the static fades in to music. He leans back in his seat, and he doesn't sing along, doesn't even hum, but it's okay.

He's going to be okay.

* * *

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Take care & love always xoxo


	2. It reminded me of you

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for this chapter: references to anxiety, unspecified mental illness, panic attacks & terrible parenting.

* * *

 **2\. "It reminded me of you."**

It's been eight weeks since everything changed, and Sirius had left his childhood home forever. Seven weeks since he'd stopped crashing at Remus' too-small, too-dark, too-damp flat, and had moved in with James and Lily, disrupting their careful balance between work, wedding preparations and domestic bliss. ( _You're not a burden,_ he reminds himself of James' almost daily words in response to Sirius' almost daily anxieties). Five weeks since Frank had been an actual real-life angel and gotten him a job as a barista at his café, _The Marauder Corner,_ so that he wouldn't have to rely on his Uncle Alphard's inheritance.

As far as adjustments go, it's by far the biggest and most difficult thing he's ever had to do. It's huge and overwhelming and too much, and even though he's happier than he's ever been in some ways, in others he knows that he's constantly a few harsh words away from a breakdown. His friends have been _wonderful_ in supporting him through his nightmares, the anxiety attacks, the panic attacks, the way he can't help but cringe a little when they raise their voice – even in jest – but it's not enough.

(He feels like the worst person in the world for thinking that, because honestly he is so blessed in his friendships, and he _knows_ this, knows that they love and cherish him more than he'll ever know, and certainly more than he deserves, but he also knows that none of them can ever hope to understand the enormity of everything he's been through, and how much of a daily struggle it is to adjust to this new life).

Still. Today was mostly positive – he only had a small barely-there panic attack at work, and it was manageable enough that he could excuse himself briefly to deal with it, and he had slept well enough that he didn't wake up feeling drained like he does some mornings. He's been looking forward to this evening all week – Thursday nights are reserved for meeting up at Peter's for a film night (he has the biggest DVD collection out of all of them), and everyone's going to be there – well, almost everyone.

Remus won't be there, and that makes Sirius' heart feel a little sad and empty – he hasn't seen Remus in several weeks now, and though they've been texting almost every day, it's just not the same. He misses the other man's warm and comforting smiles, the way he can tuck himself against Remus' soft sides and feel _safe,_ the sound of his laughter – all of it.

But at the same time, he knows _he's_ responsible for Remus' absence – in spite of Remus' protestations that really a flare was coming anyway, that he doesn't blame Sirius in the slightest, that he would much rather Sirius was safe and happy, Sirius feels awful about the fact that the flare had hit only days after Remus had come to rescue him. He'd pushed himself too hard that night – the combination of stress and exhaustion causing his fibromyalgia to suddenly worsen, and Sirius feels _awful_ about it.

It's not guilt that's driving him to see Remus this evening before the meetup though, it's just because he misses Remus, and he can tell from Remus' messages that he misses them all too, and is gutted he's not feeling up to big gatherings yet.

He stops off at Remus' favourite bakery to pick up some of the pain au chocolats that he swears are the best in town, and he's only ten minutes away from Remus' flat, when he realises he should probably warn Remus he's on his way, in case he's really not up to seeing _anybody._

So, it's as he's paused next to a nondescript apartment block to text Remus, that he hears it - a sound like a whimper, but smaller. For a second he waits, but it doesn't sound again, and he's beginning to think he's imagined it, when he hears it-

Whirling around, he squints in to the alleyway, where the block's bins are stored. He's certain it's coming from that direction, and so he ducks in to the alley, a little apprehensive, but more concerned and curious.

At first, he can't see anything that could have made that noise – there are just bins of all shapes and sizes and colours, overflowing with junk, more of which spills on to the ground every time the wind blows. The walls are stained in colours that Sirius doesn't want to think too hard about, and it smells awful – he's about to leave, when he hears it _again_ , and this time, it's easy to spot the cardboard box next to the bins.

Hurrying over to it, Sirius crouches in the food wrappers and takeout containers with a disgusted expression, and flips the top open. Inside is a tiny, ginger and white kitten, its blue eyes staring up at him in distress. It makes another pitiful whimper, and Sirius' heart is _bleeding_ , right there amidst all the trash; this tiny kitten has torn his heart in half, and he is going to protect it with everything he has.

He carefully lifts this tiny bundle of fluff in to his arms, his chest tight and aching, because _why do people abandon their pets? (_ _Why do they abandon their children?)_ This adorable, innocent creature hasn't done a thing wrong – isn't old enough to have done anything wrong, it deserves so much better than this. _He_ will see to it that this kitten gets everything it deserves and more.

But –

Ah.

What's he going to do with a kitten? He can't take it back to James and Lily's – James is terribly allergic to cats, and, as accommodating as they've been, he knows that returning home with a kitten is a step too far, even for them. Alice, Frank and Kingsley's landlord has a strict no pet policy, even though Frank is _desperate_ for rabbits. And Peter has a huge, black dog that they all love, but it chases cats and barks loudly, and Sirius' chest clenches at the thought of how terrifying that would be for this tiny kitten.

Remus, though….

The kitten sneezes suddenly, and Sirius chest floods with the same warmth he feels when he's around Remus, and he's filled with a whole new affection. Remus _has_ to have this cat: it's got a similar colouring to him, they're both Too Cute for words, and Sirius adores them both – it's perfect.

Remus will know what to do, even if he can't keep it. And so, Sirius tucks the kitten in to the front pocket of his workbag, its little head poking out in confusion, and sets off confidently.

* * *

He's less confident when he's standing in front of Remus' door with the kitten in his arms, but he doesn't have time to work himself up about it, before Remus has opened the door.

Sirius has three seconds to take in the lovely sight of Remus with messy hair, glasses, looking tired but happy to see him, before Remus' gaze falls to the kitten, and his smile fades.

"Padfoot, _no_."

"Padfoot, yes?" Sirius tries.

" _No._ "

"Moony, please, I can explain-"

Remus shakes his head, but walks away from the door, which Sirius takes as his invitation to come in, using his foot to nudge the door shut as he does so. (The lock is broken, he notices, which makes him frown, but he'll get back to that later).

"Go on then," says Remus, sounding exasperated as he leans against the back of his sofa. For a horrible second, Sirius' anxiety mutters that Remus is pissed off with him and hates him and that he's fucked everything up – but then he spots the amused twinkle in Remus' eyes, and he knows it's going to be alright.

So he explains how he'd found the kitten, how he couldn't just leave it there, how none of the others can look after it – " _please Moony, you're my only hope!_ " – and Remus looks less and less exasperated, and more and more regretful, the longer he goes on.

When Sirius has finally run out of things to sway Remus, Remus sighs. "As much as I want to, I really _can't_ afford to look after a cat right now, Sirius. Money's tight as it is-"

"I'll pay for it!" Sirius blurts, and when Remus lips purse – Remus _hates_ feeling like a charity case – he hastily continues, "it's only fair since I'm forcing it on you. I've got Uncle Alphard and I have a job now – I'll cover the costs."

Remus sighs again, this time a little wistfully. "What about when I'm dealing with flares? Or when I can't get out of bed?"

"I'll help you. I swear I'll be there whenever you need it."

The kitten jumps out of Sirius' arms, and stumbles a little unsteadily over to Remus, winding around his legs and purring. Sirius can practically _see_ Remus' walls crumbling, as it rubs against him, and he stiffly kneels down to pet it.

"It's a her," he says after a moment, not looking at Sirius. "She must be a few weeks old if she's able to walk and everything."

" _Please_ , Moony," Sirius says softly. "Someone abandoned her, and I – I know how that feels, please."

Remus looks up at him sharply. "Oh Sirius," he murmurs. "Come here," he holds out an arm, and Sirius obligingly sits down next to him. "You know I'm going to keep her."

Sirius' heart swells in his chest. "Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you, Moony, you're the best!" He hugs Remus gently, mindful that he might still be in pain, and the kitten clambers on to Remus' lap too.

Remus laughs. "Why are we sat on the floor when there's a perfectly good sofa behind us?"

"You tell me, you sat down first," says Sirius, scrambling to his feet and helping Remus to his own. "Besides, that sofa has never been 'perfectly good' and you know it."

Remus rolls his eyes, cradling the kitten in one arm, and heads towards the kitchen counter. "I'll make us some tea."

There's a comfortable pause as Remus fills up the kettle, and Sirius takes a deep breath. "How have you been?" he asks carefully, watching the way Remus moves slowly around the kitchen. Remus hates being coddled, but Sirius hates seeing Remus in pain more – enough to risk his possible annoyance at the question.

Remus half-shrugs, leaning heavily against the counter, with the tiny kitten pressed in to his chest. "I'm getting there. Mostly just tired and achy now. But I'm taking care of myself, I swear."

Sirius hesitates. "You know we're all here for you if there's _anything_ we can do. I'm here for you."

"I know," Remus says quietly, turning to flick the kettle on, and Sirius senses that this conversation is over. He bites his lip as Remus reaches up for the teabags and winces sharply – he desperately wants to offer to help, but knows that Remus would _loathe_ that, and that forcing himself upon him would be a shitty thing to do.

Instead, he moves closer, and tickles the kitten's chin as she pokes her head out from the crook of Remus' arm. She lets out a mewling sound, blinking dopily, one eyelid after the other, and paws at his hand, and Remus chuckles. "She looks like she's winking." Sirius stares at the fond expression in Remus' eyes, something akin to longing clenching in his stomach, and then focuses on what he said.

"That's her name! Winky!"

"What kind of a name is that?" Remus says sceptically, but he's grinning in the same way as he used to when James and Sirius were telling him about their next prank. Sirius loves that expression – sharp, clever and mischievous, so entirely _Remus_. "Here," he passes the kitten to Sirius, who immediately nuzzles her against his cheek, whilst he makes tea for the two of them.

"You like that name, don't you?" Sirius says to the kitten. He knows he's using the kind of stupid voice adults adopt when talking to small children, but he can't seem to stop himself. "Winky. Yes, that's you, yes it is-"

He realises Remus is watching, and his heart does something funny when he catches the warm expression on Remus' face. "What?" he says, a little flustered.

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously adorable, more like."

"Yeah, yeah." He hands Sirius a mug, and the two of them head over to the dilapidated sofa. Sirius flops himself down carelessly, deliberately not watching the way Remus lowers himself in to the other seat with a grimace. As soon as he's settled, Winky trots over to his lap and curls up in it, and Remus looks down with a happy smile.

"I can't believe you got me a cat," he says quietly, still beaming.

"It reminded me of you," says Sirius, his voice soft and way too affectionate, and Remus turns his smile on him, and Sirius _melts._ Everything is warm and tingly, and the only thing stopping him from flinging himself at Remus for a cuddle is the thought of hurting him. "Can I hug you?" he says instead, feeling himself blush a little, even though they hug all the time and it's not weird and Sirius loves hugs and _it's not weird, okay?_

Remus nods, holding out one arm, which Sirius tucks himself under, curling in to Remus' side. Winky opens one eye to gaze at him, before turning away disinterestedly. They sit like that together for a while – like some bizarre, mismatched family, and the thought makes Sirius' chest warm.

"I've missed you so much," he says quietly.

Remus hums, "I've missed you too."

Sirius buries his face in Remus' shoulder. "I don't wanna leave you," he whines, "are you sure you don't feel up to coming tonight?"

Remus looks down guiltily. "Sorry..."

"No, no, no," Sirius says quickly. "Not your fault. I just miss being around you."

Remus smiles a little sadly. "I'm sure you'll have a great time without me though."

Sirius frowns. "I'd have the best time if you were there too though."

Remus makes a half-dismissive, half-disbelieving noise, and scratches Winky behind the ears. "You need to hold up on your end of the bargain, and go and get her some dinner," he says, shifting reluctantly away from Sirius, and making to stand.

"Okay, okay," Sirius stands and stretches. "Anything you need?"

"Nah, thanks," Remus is already distracted by Winky, who's rolled on to her back, and is purring at him as he strokes her gently.

Sirius suppresses a smile, and lets himself out of the flat. This is possibly the best idea he's ever had. Remus on his own is adorable, but Remus with a kitten, all happy and glowing and smiley – absolutely wonderful.

(He comes back with enough food to last several weeks, and in every flavour Tesco had to offer – "I didn't know her preferences, Moony!" – as well as a bed, litter tray, toys, and carrier, and pamphlets from the local vets about vaccinations and microchips and kitten development. And if he doesn't end up going to the film night, and spends the evening cuddling with Remus and Winky instead? Well, who can blame him?)

* * *

Thank you so much for reading, and for your response to the first chapter! Feedback makes me so so happy! Hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter (littleoldrachel).

Take care & love always xoxo


	3. No, no, it's my treat

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for this chapter: detailed description of a panic attack, references to awful parenting, anxiety, brief mentions of insecurity regarding weight/weight issues.

* * *

 **3\. "No, no, it's my treat."**

Two weeks later finds them all at the bar where Remus works – _The Leaky Cauldron_ is filthy, dingy, and has a dodgy reputation for letting underage people drink there, but the drinks are cheap and the music is good, and it's where they've been meeting since sixth form. Remus has worked there for a good few years now, and the owner, known only as 'Tom,' trusts him enough that he turns a blind eye to Remus giving his mates free drinks and spending most of his shift at their end of the bar.

Remus is feeling a little better this week – at least in terms of pain, it's reduced to his usual neck, back and shoulder aches, mild muscle stiffness, and a low-grade headache. He's down on spoons, but he always is after a flare, especially since he's got to catch up on the work he's now behind on in both of his jobs. At least with the pub that just means picking up more shifts – at the publishing company, _Flourish and Blotts,_ he's somehow got to squeeze a month's worth of work in to the next fortnight. (He'll figure it out, he always does, but he's just bone-tired, and _so_ frustrated knowing that even getting a decent night's sleep won't help).

He wipes down the counter, where a regular's drunkenly sloshing his beer around, and sighs when he realises who it is, feeling anxiety coiling in his stomach. "Mr Filch, I'm going to have to cut you off now," he says, as politely as he can when he knows Filch is about to hurl abuse his way. His voice doesn't tremble, even though he feels like a gust of wind would make him shatter.

Tom materialises at Remus' shoulder, as Filch is spouting particularly creative profanities at him and he's just _frozen_ , and claps a hand to his back. "Go'on now, lad. I'll 'andle this."

Remus gratefully moves away from Filch, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. One would think that after years of working in retail and hospitality, he'd be better at dealing with unpleasant people by now, but every time it leaves him a little shaky and panicky inside. He moves back towards where his friends are, stopping only to refill a customer's whiskey, and immediately meets Sirius' eyes.

"Alright?" Sirius asks, glancing between him and Filch, concern clear in his eyes.

"Yeah," Remus mumbles, _if he says it enough, it has to be true._

Sirius clearly doesn't believe him, but he distracts him by asking about Winky, and before Remus knows it, the awful, cold anxiousness in his chest has been replaced by a warm, happy glow as he recounts how Winky shit _in_ her litter tray for the first time the night before, rather than around it. (Watching the way Sirius' face shifts and catches the light makes him feel close to shattering too, but it's different; it's comfortable and safe and soft, knowing that Sirius could put him back together again).

Photos of Winky staring bemusedly at the scratching post Sirius had bought around at the weekend, of her curled up in Remus' lap with him watching her like a proud parent, of her hiding in one of Sirius' Doc Martens, circulate the group, which consists of Sirius and Remus, Lily and James, Kingsley, Alice and Frank. Peter turns up minutes later, and James holds a speedy sign-conversation with him to catch him up on everything he's missed.

"Now that we're all here," James says, when they've all got drinks and Remus is on a short break (Lily takes over signing from James; Peter can lip-read well, but he prefers to sign, and he has no hope of hearing them over the sounds of a busy bar), "I've got an important announcement."

He looks over at Lily, his gaze going soft and lovesick, the same way it has every time he's looked at her, for the past seven years. "As you know, Lily and I are getting married next year." There's a brief pause as several of them make whooping noises, James leans over to press a kiss to Lily's cheek, and Lily blushes pinker than Peter's hair. The two of them share one of their secret telepathic glances, and then Lily takes a breath.

"Alice, I want you to be my bridesmaid. You're so special to me-"

She's abruptly cut off by Alice's squawk, as she flings herself at Lily, chanting "yes, yes, yes." The two of them collide in a cuddle, and they're both laughing, Alice wiping tears from her eyes, and clutching her hijab so it stays in place.

James clears his throat. "And, this will probably come as a surprise to nobody, but," he turns to Sirius. "Padfoot, I-" his voice cracks a little, "Sirius. You're my best mate, and the most important person in my life… Be my best man?"

Remus, along with everybody else, turns to Sirius expectantly. It's not like any of them think that Sirius is going to turn him down after all; everybody knows how much Sirius and James love each other – it's a bond that Remus struggles not to be jealous of – after all Sirius deserves only Good Things, and James is nothing but loving and giving in his friendships. (It's still a little hard being an outsider though, what with how well Sirius slots in to James' family, how they can hold entire conversations without saying a word).

But-

Sirius isn't looking pleased, or touched, or anything at all. His face is fixed on James', and Remus swears he's not breathing as he stares at him, his fingers shaking, despite his grip on his glass. Then suddenly, without warning, he's left his seat, streaking out of the door, and James makes to go after him, looking horrified.

Nobody says a word – James is frozen half out of his seat, staring after where Sirius had dashed off to, and even though the rest of the bar is still noisy with chatter, glasses clanking, and acoustic guitar, within their group it's utterly silent.

"Well, that was awkward," Peter says at last, a little loud and thick, but it breaks the tension, and spurs everyone in to movement once more.

"I should go after him," mumbles James, sliding out of his seat, but Remus stops him.

"Let me, Prongs," he says quietly, trying to avoid attracting everyone's attention. James studies him briefly, then sighs and nods.

* * *

"Bring him back, Moony," James murmurs softly, crushing Remus briefly to his chest, and then he propels him in the direction Sirius had run off in.

It's not difficult to locate him. To his left, there's a cluster of smokers, forced outside by their habit; to his right, the collection of tables full of people enjoying the late summer air. Sirius would have wanted to get away from people, and so Remus heads left, past the smokers, rounding the corner where they keep the bins, and sure enough-

Sirius is huddled against the wall, heaving for breath, his head between his knees. His whole body trembles, and even when Remus kneels down and takes one of his hands, he doesn't react to the contact.

"Padfoot," Remus says softly, and Sirius' head snaps up, but his eyes are glassy and leaking, like he's not really seeing Remus. He's straining for breath, shaking, crying, choking – and Remus snaps in to action. "Padfoot – _Padfoot_." He presses his palm against Sirius' face, trying to ignore the self-doubt that's _screaming_ at him that James would be a thousand times better at this.

He pulls Sirius in to him, and Sirius goes, falling against his chest. He's bizarrely tense and limp at the same time, and Remus begins taking exaggerated breaths, positioning himself so that Sirius' ear is against his heart. (He's painfully aware that his heart is pounding; he's so afraid of fucking this up, Sirius is _everything,_ and Remus is _nothing-_ ). He counts under his breath, murmurs reassurances every now and then, rubs up and down Sirius' limbs, and slowly – _slowly –_ he hears Sirius' breathing start to regulate again.

"Moony –" Sirius gasps out suddenly, and Remus jerks in surprise. "Moony, I can't feel my fingers," he says urgently.

Remus takes them, and begins massaging them between his hands. He knows it won't do any good, but he also needs to feel useful in some way. "They're still there, Pads, see? The feeling will come back, you know this doesn't last forever."

Sirius makes a whining noise, pressing his face in to Remus' belly, his breathing turning a little erratic. "It doesn't feel like it."

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Remus' heart lurches as he lets the term of endearment slip out, but thankfully Sirius doesn't comment on it.

They sit quietly, next to the recycling bin. The noises of the pub are muffled from this side of the building, the clanking in the kitchen faint, and even the smell of cigarette smoke can't reach them here. It's their own private bubble, and Remus loses all track of time (Tom will be annoyed, his 'short break' is probably three times longer than it should have been). When Sirius eventually raises his head, wiping tear-streaked cheeks on the tissue Remus offers, he too seems loathe to disturb the silence. Instead he picks at Remus' shirt – at where he's snotted and dribbled and sobbed all over it, and when he finally speaks, he says, only a little shakily, "I'm sorry about your shirt."

"Don't worry about it," Remus says, waving a hand at it. Sirius looks at him for a long moment, and then leans back in to the hug, and Remus wraps his arms around Sirius again. There's a pause, and Remus feels a little sick with worry at what he has to ask next. "Um, Padfoot. What – what caused this? If you know – there doesn't have to be a reason, you don't have to tell me-" He cuts himself off before he works himself in to a panic, and looks down at the top of Sirius' head.

Sirius has tensed up in his arms, his hands clenching in to fists in Remus' shirt. There's a long pause – this one far less comfortable than before. Remus' anxiety uncoils itself in his stomach, slithering up through his chest, his throat – _he's ruined everything –_

"Prongs is-" Sirius starts, then takes a deep shaky breath, swiping angrily at his eyes again. Remus swallows, choking the anxiety back down in order to give Sirius his full attention. He gives him a gentle squeeze, and Sirius restarts. "Prongs is my everything, and – his family are _my_ family. They -they – they m-mean s-s-s-s-so-"

"Breathe, sweetheart," mumbles Remus, and Sirius obediently sucks in a noisy breath, releasing it too quickly.

"They've always looked after me, and took me in, even though they d-didn't have to. They've been more of a family than my own were – I'm – Prongs is my best friend, and I know he loves Lily, and I love her too, and I just want him to be _happy_ , but if they get married, they'll want to start a family, they've move out, and l-leave me, and _I can't lose him,_ Moony – I can't take it, I can't let him leave me alone again-" His voice cracks, and he lets out another sob, pressing his face against Remus' chest. Remus can only tighten his grip, a painful lump in his throat because _he can't fix this._ This is between James and Sirius, and Remus can't do a thing to help.

( _Useless, pointless, waste of space-)_

"Padfoot, no, this isn't – you aren't going to lose him." The words tumble out, inarticulate but heartfelt, because Remus would do _anything_ to make this right, anything to make sure that Sirius knows the truth. "Prongs _adores_ you – you're the centre of his world, and he loves Lily, but he loves you too. I – just because he's getting married, it doesn't make you any less important in his life."

Sirius shakes his head a little, but his tears have slowed, and he's listening through his sobs.

Remus bites his lip, "have you told Prongs that this is how you feel?"

Sirius hesitates, then shakes his head, "I don't know how to say – he'll think I'm so _selfish –"_

" _No_ ," says Remus, surer now. "He will not, and you know it. You should tell him." Sirius nods slowly, his breathing raggedy, but slower. "And maybe talk to your therapist? I don't-" The uncertainty comes creeping back, but he ploughs on anyway. "I don't want to tell you what to do. But _even if_ Prongs and Lily move out, even if things change, you won't be alone. You've got all of us, for what it's worth, you've got _me."_

"It's worth more than you know," whispers Sirius, and the tears that have been lurking behind Remus' eyes for the last hour finally spill over his lashes, as his heart clenches tightly. He laughs a little shakily, and shifts Sirius in to a different position on his lap. Sirius wipes his eyes again slowly, blows his nose, and then tries for a wobbly smile. Remus smiles back at him (of course he does, he always smiles back at Sirius, it's an automatic reaction by now).

"And besides, you'll make the best best man there ever was," Remus says softly, and Sirius gives a watery chuckle.

"You know it."

"Ready to head back in?"

Sirius reaches for Remus' hand, lacing their fingers together, and takes a few deep breaths. "Give me a minute."

"Sure," Remus settles back against the wall, allowing Sirius to curl in to him once more. His shirt is sticky and damp and cool against his skin, clinging to his curves in what is surely an unattractive way. His muscles are aching and cramped from sitting on the ground for so long, and his eyes are itching with tiredness. But Sirius is okay – or at least he will be once he and James have communicated properly – and that's what is important.

* * *

Sirius barely pauses as he bounds back towards the group. "What are we discussing?" he says, with more bravado than Remus knows he's feeling, slinging one arm around James' shoulders. James glances at him, and there's a silent communication that they'll discuss this later – _are you okay_ – _I'm sorry_ – _I love you and I'm worried about you_ , before they turn back to the group.

"Fuckin' Faceswap and Snapchat filters. They never find my fuckin' face, they're made for fuckin' white people," Frank tell him.

"Preach," James says, lifting his mocktail.

"And that one that makes you look 'pretty,'" seethes Alice. "Aka, makes you look like a white person. It's gross."

Sirius pouts, his love for Snapchat is no secret – each of them wake up to at least four snaps of him with various filters on every day – but unfortunately, Remus doesn't get to hear any more, because Tom claps a hand on his shoulder, dragging him away with a stern expression.

"I'm sorry – I can explain –" Remus begins, the anxiety flooding back so quickly, he thinks he'll be sick with it, but Tom cuts him off sharply.

"He alright?" he jerks his head at Sirius.

Remus nods slowly, and Tom studies him carefully. Remus breathes deeply, fighting the rising nausea. "Don't do it again without telling me," he says eventually, waving a hand to dismiss Remus, and Remus stares, feeling that awful combination of relief and adrenalin that always leaves him a bit shaky. Tom quirks an eyebrow at him. "Go'on, get out. Your shift's over, you know?"

"Moony!" James is leaning over the bar, and he turns. "We're heading out, you coming?"

Outside the pub, there's the usual kerfuffle as everyone hugs everyone else, and it's still a good twenty minutes before they all head their separate ways. Remus hangs back a little, chatting with Alice, and so he's surprised when Sirius approaches him, not having left with James and Lily.

"So. Can I interest you in an ice cream?" Sirius asks with an almost self-conscious grin.

Remus laughs, "it's almost one in the morning, Pads."

Sirius loops his arm through Remus', waving cheerily at Alice and Frank, and begins leading him away. "That never stopped us in uni, Moonbeam."

"True," Remus can't fight the grin as he remembers the midnight runs to the local ice cream parlour every time an essay was being particularly troublesome, or when one of them was stressed or sad. Ice cream solved everything, and Remus can guess exactly why Sirius is craving it tonight.

"So, ice cream, yes?"

"I shouldn't," Remus says ruefully, sucking in his belly almost unconsciously, and crossing his arms over it. "I'm supposed to be on a diet."

"What?! Since when?" Sirius looks appalled, and Remus wants to laugh at his defensiveness – he would if it didn't mean the world, if didn't warm the iciness of that particular insecurity.

"Since my doctor started nagging at me _again._ There're all these studies that link obesity to fibro symptoms getting worse."

Sirius frowns. "But you're not obese. You're just…"

"Overweight."

"I was going to say chubby," Sirius says, "and you are adorable and perfect the way you are-"

Remus rolls his eyes. "I don't need the positive affirmation, Padfoot, you tell me regularly enough as it is."

"Well, it's true."

"You're ridiculous."

Sirius sticks his tongue out at Remus, because he is an Actual Child, and says, "we'll get fucking sorbets then. They're low calorie."

"Deal."

(Sirius absolutely does not get a sorbet – he orders the double-chocolate-fudge ice cream sundae that he _knows_ Remus adores, watches Remus pick miserably at his raspberry sorbet for a few minutes – " _why on Earth did you pick raspberry, you don't even like raspberry?" –_ before he caves and steals Sirius' ice cream. Remus can't hide the toothy, child-like grin on his face at the familiarity of it all, at the comfort, and Sirius beams back at him, and everything is _wonderful_ ).

They talk and talk, and eat way more ice cream than they should, and stay up far too late for adults-who-have-work-in-the-morning, but Remus also never wants it to end. It's like the university days when Sirius would come and drag Remus out of the library at goodness-knows-o-clock, and just chat to him to distract him from his crippling fear of failure. It's comfortable and safe and warms Remus' heart more than good central heating ever could.

When they finally leave, Sirius has an arm around Remus' waist, and Remus knows that this is just how Sirius _is –_ he's tactile and loving and gentle – but it feels like so much more, like something has shifted between them. He doesn't remove his hand as they go to pay-

"No, no, it's my treat," Sirius gently pushes Remus' handful of change out of the way, and produces his own cash. "This is my hard-earned dollar, and I talked you in to this."

"'Dollar?'" snorts Remus, focusing on Sirius' dorkiness so that he doesn't have to think about how close this is to a date, how much they're blurring that line-

"I am _hip,_ Remus, I know all the lingo," Sirius says proudly, keeping a straight face for all of three seconds before he laughs.

There's a lightness in Remus' chest as he leaves Sirius at the halfway point between their houses – it's a lightness that is so rare these days, but it fills his entire body, a warm glow resting in his heart. And Remus knows that this cannot last – Sirius is not meant for him, he is worth _so much more_ , but _shit,_ he is going to enjoy it whilst he can.

* * *

Sorry this is a bit shit and choppy – I'm moving to France tomorrow lmao. Next update could potentially take a while bc I have to settle and everything, you know~

The whole gang is here! (Well, almost all of them – Marlene works abroad, which is why she's not in the pub with them, but she'll rock up later, and other characters like Regulus will turn up too!) I have a squillion hcs for these characters – in this fic, Frank and Kingsley are black, James is Indian and Alice is Syrian – hence the issues with Snapchat filters (it's true and it's gross). Also Peter is Hard of Hearing and uses British Sign Language, in case that wasn't clear. Remus' issues/insecurities with his weight will be addressed in later chapters, but this is a body positive fic, and chubby!Remus is special to me, so no hate.

If y'all have any questions, or requests for things you'd like to see for later 'I love you's, then let me know – I'm open to suggestions, and I don't have them all planned out yet, so I'll see what I can do! Hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter (littleoldrachel) to get in touch!

Thank you so much for your lovely feedback, it means the world! Love always & take care, R xoxo


	4. Come here, let me fix it

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for this chapter: anxiety, terrible parenting, mention of vomit but no actual vomit.

Regarding potential angst, because I've had a few comments and asks about this, this fic will NOT end badly. There will be no major character death, Remus/Sirius is endgame, for every hurt (and there will be a fair bit of hurt), there will be copious amounts of comfort, because I'm incapable of not giving these two the happy ending they deserve. If you want anything more specific, feel free to message me on tumblr, twitter or on here, and we can chat about what's coming up.

* * *

 **"Come here, let me fix it."**

There isn't a single part of Sirius' body that isn't trembling, and he keeps forgetting to breathe – then concentrating too hard on it, then panicking and forgetting once more. He's pale and sweating through his suit, and he _knows_ that checking his watch every four seconds is helping nothing, but there're only two hours to go – or one hundred and twenty-one minutes, or seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-sixty-seconds, seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-nine-seconds, seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-eight-seconds-

In approximately two hours, Sirius has the biggest job interview of his life, and he doesn't mean to be melodramatic, but he literally doesn't know how he's going to survive until then ( _how fast does your heart have to beat before it gives out?_ ). Which is why Remus – wonderful, supportive, _kind_ Remus – is going to come and keep him distracted until then, because otherwise he will actually have a heart attack, and keel over right here in this bustling street, and wouldn't that just be a tragedy?

Remus is late, which isn't unusual for him, but with every extra second on his own, Sirius can feel himself slipping further and further towards a panic attack because _fuck, why does he think he can do this?_

(He can't – his parents were right, his teachers were right, he's not good enough, he's never going to be good enough-)

The thing is – this interview is kind of a Big Deal. It's not that he doesn't like working at _The Marauder Corner_ – he does, and he'll be eternally grateful to Frank for supporting him. He finally feels like he knows what he's doing now, and he hasn't screwed up an order in three ( _three!_ ) days. He's figured out how to smile for tips, who the nicest regulars are, and he's starting to feel _safe_ there – he's _comfortable._ But… in the meantime, he has a hard-won First Class Bachelor's Degree in Illustration  & Graphic Design going to waste, and after everything he went through with his parents to be allowed to study it, with his mental health to actually _complete_ it, it's driving him a little bit crazy that he's not doing anything with it.

It's not that he hasn't been on the hunt for jobs; it's more that freelance illustration is hard to get in to, it's hard to find regular clients, it's hard to make a decent living, and for once in his life, Sirius just wanted _one_ thing to be easy.

But this interview could change all of that. _Queerllustration_ is a small company, who produce web comics for both educational and entertainment purposes, and they're currently looking for a new, full-time Graphic Designer. As the name suggests, they make art about LGBT+ people, created by LGBT+ people, _for_ LGBT+ people, and Sirius has been in love with their work since he first stumbled across their nonbinary superhero character, Eclipse. Working for them would be the absolute _dream_ – he just has to convince them he's _good enough._

(Which is going to be difficult, considering he can't even convince himself).

"Hey, you," the voice is warm and gentle, and the touch on his arm is light, but Sirius still flinches sharply, and Remus withdraws immediately. He looks breathless and tired, but he's smiling brightly at him, even if his eyes are a little crinkled in concern.

 _(Six thousand, six hundred seconds to go)._

"Alright?" He tries for a confident smile, burying his face in Remus' shoulder briefly as he pulls him in for a hug, but his insides are still _liquid._

"Have you eaten yet?" Remus asks, still not quite releasing him (probably for the best – Sirius' knees have forgotten how not to shake, which is making standing a Problem), and peering inside the café.

Sirius is torn – if he says no, Remus will make him eat something, and then he might be sick – _what if he vomits all over the interviewers? –_ but if he says yes, he'll be lying to Remus. The thought of lying to him, even over something so trivial, makes him feel just as nauseous as eating will. In the end though, he doesn't have to choose, because Remus knows him well enough to mutter, "no then," whilst steering him gently towards the door.

It's a mark of how anxious he's getting, that Sirius doesn't even register Remus sitting him down at a table, queuing, ordering and paying – and Sirius _notices_ things, his anxiety won't let him not document every tiny detail of a situation, to the extent that it's overwhelming and too much, but now, he's losing entire pockets of time, and he's _terrified._

There's a large pumpkin spice latte sitting in front of him, and moments later, a tomato and mozzarella panini slides across to join it. Remus slips in to the seat opposite with his own food, and Sirius tries to smile his thanks – his heart tugs a little at the fact that Remus knows him so well – but it comes out as more of a grimace.

He clears his throat, hand clenching the table leg to give him something to ground himself on, and mumbles, "thanks, Moony." Remus gives him a thumbs-up, his own mouth already full with an egg salad sandwich, and Sirius seizes on this detail, this normalcy. "I thought you didn't like the egg sandwiches here?"

Remus swallows with difficulty, and shrugs. "S'alright. There aren't many kosher options, this is fine." Sirius nods absently, and shifts his grip from the table leg to around his mug – it's a little too hot to hold, but the burn helps him to concentrate. Remus tracks this movement with a frown, and then continues, "anyway, we're not here to talk egg sandwiches. How are you doing?"

Sirius forces himself to take a sip of his latte, eyes closing briefly in pleasure at its warm sweetness. ( _If Remus were a drink, he'd be a pumpkin spice latte_ , he thinks vaguely, then catches himself and nearly chokes on his drink). "I'm – uh – okay?" he says, and Remus rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, no, try again."

"I'm – I'm not. Uh. Okay," Sirius whispers to his panini, and Remus' fingers hover momentarily above Sirius' wrist, giving him time to pull away, before gently closing around it. Sirius pulls his gaze up to meet Remus' eyes, and kind of wants to burst in to tears at the sheer concern and care he sees there. He's clenching his drink so tightly that his knuckles are white but his fingers are _still fucking shaking_.

"Would talking about it help?" Remus asks softly. "Or do you need to be distracted?"

Sirius shakes his head helplessly, "I don't know, I don't know, I don't- "

"Breathe, Pads," Remus slides his hand down to Sirius', where it's clamped around the mug, and unpeels his fingers slowly, intertwining their fingers together. Sirius gazes at their hands for a second – he's lost and scared and shaking, but he's also anchored to Remus – Remus isn't going to let him get hurt.

Sirius lets out a shaky breath, and takes another sip of his drink, swallowing down the anxiety for a moment. "Can you – I don't – can we talk about something else for a bit?"

"Anything," Remus squeezes his hand, then lets go, and Sirius instantly misses his warm grip. His fingers scrabble for something to fiddle with, land on his panini, and begin tearing it in to strips. Remus glances at him, but doesn't try and stop him. "So, did you talk to Prongs and Lils after last week?"

Sirius pulls a face. "Sticking with the difficult conversations, are we?"

Remus shrugs, biting in to his sandwich. "You tell me."

"I did, yeah." The bread is thoroughly shredded now, and Sirius absent-mindedly begins separating the ingredients in to different piles. "He cried, I cried, everyone cried."

Remus snorts, but not unkindly. "I think I'd be more worried if Prongs didn't cry, to be honest."

Sirius lets out a huff that ordinarily would have been a laugh. "It went like you said it would. He – he was really upset I ever thought they wouldn't want me around. Said I'm – uh –" his voice cracks a little. "More special to him than I'd ever know." He flaps his hand, unable to vocalise everything the conversation had mended in him – that it had filled in cracks in his heart that he hadn't even realised were forming. Of course, it won't last – his anxiety will be back again soon enough, worming its way in to his weak spots. But for now, at least, he knows that James loves him unconditionally and would never want him to leave.

(It doesn't hurt that James has doubled his number of daily reassurances, and started leaving him little post-it notes saying _you're so loved_ all over the place).

"I'm really glad," says Remus, bringing him back to the present. The anxiety surges back in an unpleasant wave and he takes a breath, desperately looking for another distraction.

"I got a message from Reg on Facebook," he blurts suddenly – then regrets it, because he's not ready to unpack that yet at _all_ , but nor is he ready to tackle the topic of the interview.

Remus looks momentarily bewildered at the abrupt subject change, but then raises his eyebrows curiously.

Sirius looks down at the heaps of separated food in panic, and stuffs the bread in to his mouth so that he has time to think. He swallows with difficulty, and says, "he was just checking in, I think. I haven't read it properly. I – uh – he wanted to know that I wasn't homeless, I think."

"That's… good?" says Remus cautiously.

"Yeah," Sirius says, only it comes out with too much forced-cheerfulness, and they both wince. "I mean – I think so. Part of me, this is going to sound insane, but… what if my parents are using him to find me?" He glances at Remus' expression, expecting to see scorn or disdain, but Remus just looks thoughtful.

"I don't think Reg would do that to you. Maybe he never stood up to your family, but I don't think he would actually turn on you like that."

Sirius blinks a little, feeling a lump in his throat and a prickling behind his eyes. "Thank you for not telling me I'm being paranoid… I – thank you."

Remus nods, still looking thoughtful, and there's a comfortable quiet as Remus finishes off the rest of his sandwich, whilst Sirius chews through the pile of bread, and makes a start on the tomato slices.

Then –

"So," Remus says, glancing at his wrist. "You have an hour to go."

Sirius jolts, the panic racing back down his arms, his legs, through his fingers and toes, and paralysing him in an icy chokehold. He forces a breath in before he completely freaks out, and another, fingers clenching the table _hard_. Remus' hands find his own, wrapping around them in a comforting grip. "Sorry, I – I just thought we could maybe talk about the interview? If that might help?"

"Give me a sec," Sirius manages, and Remus immediately removes his hands, retreating apologetically. Sirius wants to _scream_ because _that's not what he meant_ , but words are too hard at the moment. They sit in silence for a few minutes whilst Sirius tries to _get his fucking shit together,_ and then Remus leans forwards again nervously.

"We don't have to, Pads," he says quietly. "It was just a suggestion, we can-"

"Can you – uh – " Sirius scrubs at his face. "Can you, like, look at my portfolio? I'm not asking for like – _praise_ – I'm not trying to be modest – I just – all I can hear is my dad screaming at me that I'm not enough and ripping up my art -and I – I just need- "

"Padfoot, I'd love to see your art. Anything you want to show me." Remus brushes a reassuring thumb over the back of Sirius' hand, and reaches for the portfolio leaning against his satchel.

Sirius watches Remus open the folder, but then looks away quickly, unable to watch Remus' expression change. Objectively, he knows that it's _good_ – he didn't get a first for nothing, he knows that the bold colouring, the quirky characters, the attention to detail – it's all _good, he_ is _good_. But is he good _enough_? And what if it's too similar to the stuff they already do? He took inspiration from _Queerllustration_ for his final project after all; they might decide he's just an overenthusiastic fan with no real creative talent of his own. He tries his best to shove down the voice that sounds a lot like his father's, and picks at the remaining tomato seeds, feeling like he's awaiting a criminal sentence.

Remus lets out a little gasp, and Sirius can't help but look up sharply. Remus' expression is – a myriad of things: warmth, awe, surprise, delight – and he leans over the pages to look closer, shoving his glasses further up his nose. He's stopped on a city scape scene – it's London by night, the silhouette of a caped and masked figure standing clearly against the night sky, and Remus is currently tracing the tiny shimmering stars, with his mouth in a little 'o' shape. He glances up, catches Sirius' eye, and shakes his head disbelievingly. "Every time I think you can't get any better, you blow me away, Pads." He runs a finger over the tiny details of the golden streetlights, the miniscule red buses, the shadowy skyscrapers with their hundreds of minute windows, and looks back up with a beam. "This is stunning. And-" he flips back a few pages, to a watercolour of a collection of animals. (Watercolour isn't his strongest medium, but he was particularly proud of how these turned out – the gentler shades allowed for a dappled light effect – and besides, it was important to show he could be diverse). "I _love_ this, it feels so… familiar in a way? It's just so lovely, I can't put my finger on it exactly, but I think this is one of my favourites." He reverently presses his fingertips against where the wolf and the black dog are touching snouts, at the way the rat is scampering up the buck's back.

(Sirius can't quite explain what Remus' words are doing to him. It's almost like he's being punched in the gut, but with a warmth and an affection so strong that it takes his breath away, something soft and fragile blooming in his chest and pressing back against the panic nestling in his lungs).

"Do you mean that?" he croaks out at last, whilst Remus continues to pore through his artwork – the costume designs, the portraits, the fight scene – with occasional exclamations of admiration.

Remus looks up, his expression earnest and kind. "Of course, Pads. I don't – you're so _talented._ I just – you're phenomenal, and I mean – I don't know anything about art," he smiles a little self-deprecatingly, "but I know that _Queerllustration_ are fools if they don't hire you."

Something akin to relief sparks in Sirius' heart, and it's not enough to quench the anxiety still resting there ( _nothing is ever enough_ ), but it loosens its grip a little, it plants a brittle seed of hope there, and Sirius can smile without feeling like he's about to shatter. He idly pops a mozzarella slice in to his mouth from the small, final heap of food, and returns Remus' grin as best as he can.

"Thank you," he says softly, wishing he could convey exactly how much Remus' reassurances mean to him, how much _Remus_ means to him. (It's not like James and Lily and every single one of his friends haven't offered their own reassurances, of course they have. It's just that there's something about Remus' compassionate smile, his kind honesty, his general _Remus_ -ness that makes Sirius feel like he could accomplish almost anything).

"Of course," Remus says, giving him a look that's so full of care and warmth that Sirius can actually _feel_ the glow it bathes him in. He bites his lip, and then says, "can I ask – what is it that you're most afraid of? Like, I completely understand why you're anxious – I just – what – argh," he flaps his hands in frustration, "I'm fucking this up."

"You're not," says Sirius quickly. "I get what you're trying to say." Remus looks relieved, as Sirius chews on his mozzarella thoughtfully. "I think the thing is that if - if I – uh – if I fuck this interview up, I – _everything_ my parents ever said about me is-"

"Still all filthy, _awful_ lies," says Remus fiercely. " _Nothing_ they have ever said about you is true, _none_ of it, Padfoot, I swear it."

The protectiveness causes the little seed of hope in his chest to swell, and he finds himself blinking back tears again. (Remus is a better friend than he deserves – better than anyone deserves).

"Did you talk to your therapist?" Remus says, more gently.

Sirius looks down, feeling the guilt drop in to his stomach like a stone.

"Hey, no, it's okay if you didn't. I was just asking."

"Please don't hate me," Sirius begins.

" _Never_ ," says Remus vehemently.

"- I, uh, I maybe haven't been to therapy in three weeks?" He's too ashamed to meet Remus' eyes – whilst he hasn't lied _directly_ to any of them, he's been feeling awful about this ever since the first time he got to the office and couldn't face walking through the door. He's been longing to tell someone honestly – but they've slowly stopped asking and checking up on his sessions, trusting him enough to _be a fucking adult_ and get the help he needs. But they didn't ask, and he didn't tell, and it went on and on, and every time he missed it, he got more and more anxious about going back-

"I don't – what happened?" Remus doesn't sound angry, or shocked, or annoyed. Just concerned and a little confused, and it's the care that gives Sirius the courage to look up at him again.

He shrugs, "the sessions were kind of helpful… but I got so nervous about going, and then one week, I just _couldn't_ go. And then it sort of… spiralled?"

Remus' face is kind and understanding. "I get it," he clears his throat. "I did a similar thing a couple years back. Things were fine until bam, suddenly they weren't, and I just went straight back home to bed without going to my appointment, and I couldn't bring myself to get out again."

(Remus _gets_ it. He actually gets it – and as much as Sirius loathes the idea of Remus suffering in any kind of way – physically, mentally, emotionally, whatever – the fact that he gets it and he understands makes Sirius feel less alone, less ashamed, less like a fuckup).

"What did you do?" Sirius asks, because he vaguely remembers this, but Remus used to struggle far more frequently than he does now, and he knows that as a group, they handled some of them better than others.

"Some pretty great friends told me that I didn't have to stick with that therapist if it wasn't the right fit. That there were other options. That they would still love and support me, no matter what." His voice wobbles a little, but he looks determined. "The point is, the same applies here. You can try someone else if you like. Or look in to other treatments – maybe your meds need adjusting? But whatever happens, we all love and support you, and – uh – I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could tell us before."

"It wasn't that," says Sirius hastily, "it was more that I was just embarrassed I couldn't function like an adult. Like – you all have real jobs, and you all manage everything, and have your shit together, and I'm just a hot mess-"

"I _promise_ you, we don't have our shit together," says Remus. "Yesterday I cried because I couldn't pick which pair of socks to wear. Alice rang me to tell me she ate a share bag of Skittles in one sitting and was freaking out in case they weren't halal. Wormtail has reapplied for uni four separate times. None of us have our shit together, if that helps."

Sirius grins in spite of himself because _fuck_ he adores his ridiculous, crazy, _wonderful_ friends. Remus continues, "we could have been better though. So I'm sorry, and we're all here for you for whatever you need."

"Ditto," Sirius says softly, nudging Remus' ankle with his own, and Remus' gaze drops, his shoulders tensing. Sirius frowns, "you know that, right?"

Remus doesn't meet Sirius' eyes as he says, "yeah sure," and then gets up to return their plates to the counter. Sirius frowns after him, making a mental note to _actually have an honest conversation with Remus about his mental health_ , but then checks his watch and _blanches_ because he has twelve-hundred-seconds, eleven-hundred-and-ninety-nine-seconds-

"Come on," Remus is back, and pulling him to his feet, and Sirius goes in a sort of daze. He _does_ feel better than he did before; he's not losing pockets of time anymore, and the food sitting in his stomach is a weight that keeps him somewhat grounded – though not as much as Remus' hand around his wrist.

It's slightly better when they get outside – the light breeze coupled with Remus' nattering soothes his frayed nerves a little, and he takes a few deep breaths, fragile but not shattering, the hope in his heart holding him together. The short walk goes by too fast, and before he knows what's happening, the two of them are standing outside a building covered in rainbow art.

"Go get 'em, tiger," says Remus, pulling him in for one final hug, allowing Sirius to cling a little longer than usual. "You've got this, we love you, you're amazing."

Sirius nods. "I'm amazing," he repeats, and Remus bursts in to laughter.

"Damn straight you are!"

"Take that back! There's nothing straight about me!" Sirius says, in mock-affront.

"I apologise," says Remus solemnly, and Sirius beams back – his head is spinning with how much he adores this man; there are very few people in the world who can momentarily make him forget his troubles like that, who can build him up with compliments and smiles, but Remus is one of them.

"I'll call you later?" he says, making to walk in through the door.

"Wait," Remus calls, and Sirius turns back to him. "Come here, let me fix it." He gestures at Sirius' tie, and Sirius flushes, but allows Remus to retie it, straighten the knot, and tuck it back in to his jacket. "Very handsome," he says with a cheeky, dimpled grin, and Sirius sort of _melts._ "And you'd better call."

"I will," Sirius promises, and then strides in to the building, before the anxiety can do so much as _hiss_ that he's going to let them all down.

* * *

Three hours later, Sirius is on the evening shift at the _Marauder Corner,_ when he gets a call from an unknown number. He smiles apologetically at Frank, who rolls his eyes but lets him slip in to the kitchens, and he answers breathlessly.

(The conversation that ensues is brief but it's enough – it's more than enough – it's _everything_ ).

The job is his.

 _(He did it, he actually did it, fuck his parents, fuck his teachers, he_ is _amazing)._

He manages to splutter his acceptance, his gratitude and hangs up, then cries so hard he almost makes himself sick, and rings Remus, who sounds all sorts of _choked-up-proud-love-care-happiness_. When he finally gets home, having spent the rest of his shift in an overjoyed daze, making clumsy mistakes and spilling sugar and coffee grains everywhere, it's to a surprise party, and he is _overwhelmed_ with happiness and love and warmth.

James shouts out a quick warning before he tackles him to the ground in a hug. Alice, queen of baking forever and ever, has made him a gorgeous rainbow cake, topped with smarties. Peter gives him a flower crown, which Kingsley steals halfway through the night ("because I look so good in daisies, I should just wear them always") and -

Remus waits until the excitable chaos has calmed down a little before approaching Sirius. "Hey, you," he says, dropping in to the just-vacated seat next to Sirius. James has his head in Sirius' lap, but he shuffles along, plopping in to Peter's instead, and starting a sign conversation, complimenting Peter's new violet hair.

"Hey, Moonbeam," Sirius smiles back at him, leaning his head against Remus' shoulder. Remus allows him to tuck himself against his side, slipping an arm around him.

"I know I said this before, but I'm _so bloody_ proud of you, Pads," he says softly, and they're both watching Frank and Lily dancing, but it's somehow just as intense as if they were holding each other's gaze.

"I couldn't have done it without you," Sirius murmurs back, finding Remus' hand, and squeezing it. Remus doesn't move for a second, and then, very slowly and deliberately, he raises their intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a gentle kiss against their fingers.

Sirius doesn't breathe, doesn't blink, doesn't move – doesn't want anything to break this spell, because they are on the _verge_ of something, something is about to change between them –

But then there's a smashing sound, and Kingsley is staring, wide-eyed, at the floor, looking guiltily at where he's dropped a mug, which is now in pieces.

And the moment is lost.

Remus extricates his hand, and stands up without looking at Sirius. He walks over to James, who's fretting a little trying to make sure nobody gets shards of china in their feet, and makes his excuses, claiming a stomach-ache and tiredness.

And Sirius just –

Watches him go.

* * *

Sorry sorry sorry, didn't mean to leave it this long. Moved to France and things went Wrong. Anway, I'm okay, and thank you for your well wishes, they mean so much!

I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but if I have to stare at it any longer, I will scream.

If y'all have any questions, or requests, or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter (littleoldrachel) or on here to get in touch!

Thank you so so much for your lovely lovely support and feedback, y'all are angels!

Love always & take care xoxo


	5. I'll walk you home

Based on a tumblr post by p0ch3tf0x.

Tw for mentions of anxiety, mentions of depression, some real intense self-hate, a blink and you'll miss it reference to past self harm, lotta angst in this one.

* * *

 **"I'll walk you home"**

Remus plops himself down in to an armchair, hissing slightly as his muscles shriek in protest. Alice grimaces sympathetically from where she's curled in her own squishy chair, and Lily drops in to the final seat with a sigh.

She raises her mug of almond-milk hot chocolate, and clinks it against the others'. "The three spoonies ride again!" Alice lets out a little whoop, jingling her silver 'I'm epileptic!' bracelet, and Remus smiles behind his cup, unable to match their enthusiasm, because his stomach is _killing_ him. (His whole body is tender and fiery just beneath his skin, but the cramps are fierce and relentless. He surreptitiously cradles his hot mug against his belly; the heat that seeps through his shirt helps a little, but _not enough._ The chatter and buzz of the café are doing nothing to help his headache either, and he wants nothing more than to crawl in to his bed with a hot water bottle and stay there for the foreseeable future).

"How are y'all?" Lily asks, taking a huge bite of her Danish, and groaning around the mouthful. "This is fucking _delicious_."

Alice shrugs a little. "Not terrible, الحمد الله. Haven't tranced in like, a month?"

"That's great," murmurs Remus. "Did you get your meds adjusted?"

"Yeah, they're better now, I'm less sleepy all the time. The weight gain's a pain, but," she pulls a face. "Every time I complain about it in front of my parents, I'm told that I should be grateful that they can even treat it, blah blah blah."

Lily scoffs. "Spoken like a true Able."

Alice makes a noise of agreement in her throat. "Anyway. How about you, Lils?"

Lily pulls a face, cramming the last of the pastry in to her mouth. "Had a bit of a flare last week. Also, J made his own ice cream – what a _nerd,_ can you believe he makes his own? – and _obviously_ , I couldn't resist, and my UC did _not_ appreciate that at all. But this week: so far, so good."

"It's only Monday," Remus points out.

"And I am trying very hard to be positive. What's gotten in to you, Mr Grumpy Guts?" Lily retorts.

Remus flushes a little guiltily ( _selfish, selfish, selfish_ ). "Sorry… I've had this stomach ache for like four days, and everything _hurts._ I just – sorry."

"Oh no, habibi, don't do that," Alice shakes her head, and Remus is momentarily distracted by the way her pink, glittery hijab sparkles under the warm, café lighting. "You're absolutely allowed to be grumpy. Anyone would be."

Lily nods in agreement. "We don't have to apologise for our illnesses making us moody here, remember?" She stretches out a hand to Remus, and he smiles back at her, squeezing her fingers. "There's something else the matter though," she says, and her eyes narrow as she scrutinises him. "You look awful. And not in an _I-can't-stand-up-straight-and-shower-because-everything-hurts_ sort of way."

"Gee, thanks."

"She's right," chimes in Alice, and somewhere, beneath the pain in his gut, Remus feels the stirrings of panic, and even further below that, the churning _shame-rejection-disappointment-sadness_ that he's been suppressing for the last few days. "Uh oh, what's that face?" She shuffles a little closer to him, laying a protective hand on his forearm. Remus takes a deep breath, staring down at his hot chocolate, and it trembles a little in his hands.

"I did something really fucking stupid."

There's a silence, and then Lily says – her voice low and urgent – "Remus, are we talking _I'm hurting myself again_ kind of stupid, or _I'm not taking my meds_ or – "

" _No_!" Remus says quickly, _hating_ himself that these are even things that they have to worry about. "Nothing like that." He feels Lily relax, and Alice lets out a barely-audible sigh, and the ball of self-loathing that wraps around his heart tightens a little more. "I… uh..." he runs a hand down his face, and whispers through his fingers, "I sort of kissed Sirius?"

" _What_?" Alice yelps, and Lily jolts, going rigid once more. "I have so many questions. When? Where? Sort of? What?"

Remus can't meet their eyes, as he lowers his shaky hands, and begins twisting them anxiously, pinching at the skin on his wrist. "At the party thing. Last week."

There's another pause as they digest this. "Sort of?" Alice repeats. "What does that even mean?"

He lets out a sigh, feeling the _guilt-shame-self-hatred_ writhing low in his belly, and a sharp pain twists through his stomach. (He deserved that, he deserves that and worse for fucking everything up. Sirius hasn't texted or called in five days since _it_ happened, and the thought of seeing him again makes him feel dizzy and nauseous with nerves… though there's a smaller part of him that isn't sure why he's making this such a Big Deal – it's not like he hasn't kissed Sirius before; Sirius is affectionate, and they've been friends for long enough that this shouldn't be causing such turmoil).

"We were kind of just… sitting next to each other, and then he squeezed my hand, and just… didn't let go? And then I kissed his hand?" He goes to hide his face once more, but Alice catches his arm and holds it fast.

"You kissed his hand? What is this, the 1600s?"

Remus is _burning_ – the pain in his stomach is a boiling, bubbling mess, the aching throughout his body sets his skin on fire, and now, the flush rises over his cheeks – hot, hot, hot with embarrassment.

"Lils, you're being weirdly quiet," Alice continues. "Any input?"

Lily has sat back in her chair, and is studying Remus, though not harshly. "This explains a lot," she says eventually, and Remus' already roiling stomach _lurches._

"What do you mean?" he asks, a little too desperate and raw. "Has he said anything?"

"No," Lily says carefully. "But he doesn't have to. He's been in a kind of… daze? J and I thought it was because of the new job – anxiety, you know? But this explains it."

"Shit," Remus murmurs. "Shit, shit, shit." He draws his legs to his chest, curling up as small as his aching body will allow. (He wants to drop off the face of the planet, or sink in to a deep, dark hole, or fade entirely from existence-)

"Stop spiralling," Lily says sharply. "It's not a bad sort of daze. That's why it didn't add up. He's… happy, I think?"

Remus looks at her disbelievingly. "Please don't lie to me to make me feel better. Not about this-"

"Look," Alice cuts in. "What did he say when you did it?"

Remus swallows and looks down. "Nothing… it was just silence and then I ran and I've ruined _everything._ " He buries his face in his knees, because he doesn't have the courage to face either of them right now, and he especially doesn't deserve their kindness.

"How have you ruined everything?" asks Lily calmly, and Remus snaps his head up incredulously.

"Are you kidding? Now he knows that I – that I – "

"Yes?" Alice says gently, when he tapers off.

"That I – _hngh_ , never mind," Remus can feel a lump in his throat, and the words are trapped beneath it, unable to escape. The burning sensations throughout his body have reached the backs of his eyes, but he refuses to cry – he will not cry. ( _This_ is why this is a Big Deal – _this_ is what makes it different to any other time that Sirius has kissed him).

"Noooo, don't do that." Lily grabs his hand back, and strokes the back of it with her thumb reassuringly. "Go on."

Remus wrenches his gaze to her face, and then feels an icy bucket of _dread-horror-panic_ tip over him because she _knew._ The tears spill over his cheeks before he can stop them. "You _knew_ ," he mumbles, " _shit_ , _shit_ , _shit,_ is it that obvious?"

"Is what obvious?" persists Alice, taking his other hand.

"That I _like_ Sirius!" Remus bursts out, and then shrinks in his seat as a couple of heads turn in his direction.

"Oh, praise the Lord!" Lily whispers, a smile splitting across her face.

"You finally admitted it!" Alice says, radiant with how wide she's beaming.

Remus feels – _overwhelmed._ He's _horrified_ that this secret that he's kept so close to his heart for so long was apparently blindingly obvious, he's _terrified_ by the implications of everyone knowing, he's still a mess of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. The odd sense of relief at sharing this burden juxtaposes painfully with his utter _panic_ that he's _shared this burden._ It's been his secret (or apparently not a secret, but still), and only his, for as long as he can remember – for weeks, months, years even, a secret that's outlasted every other crush he's had on men, women, people _just_ as kind, brave, smart, funny, gorgeous as Sirius.

(Except that there's nobody quite like Sirius – not many people are capable of making Remus feel so _good_ about himself just by being around them, not many people give him the confidence to feel like he can accomplish _anything_ he puts his mind to – not many people make him feel like enough, just as he is. But Sirius does).

He doesn't know what to do with this tidal wave of conflicting emotions, and he tries to suck in a shaky breath, to combat the tears that are trickling down his cheeks, but it's like he's lost all control.

"Shh shh shh, you're alright," Lily's gentle voice cuts through his meltdown, and he's startled to find that she's moved directly in front of him, and is pulling him in to an embrace. He buries his face in to her shoulder – disoriented, but agonisingly aware that he needs to _get a grip_ – and forces in a few calming breaths like his therapist has taught him. As Lily releases him, her face tense with concern, Alice presses a tissue in to fists that he didn't realise were clenched.

"S-sorry," he whispers, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, whilst still struggling with the whole even-breathing thing.

"We didn't mean to push you," Alice says, and Remus shakes his head a little too violently; it twinges sharply at the movement.

"It's just been – a shitty week, and I'm loopy with the pain and – everything – I – _argh_ ," Remus scrubs at his eyes, smearing the tears on his cheeks, and presses until he's seeing stars. ( _Sirius is a star,_ his mind supplies unhelpfully, and he snaps his eyes open again). "I'm a fucking mess."

"Yes," says Lily, easing herself back in to her chair. "But we love you more than life itself. Now, we need to talk about this."

" _Whyyy?_ " Remus whines, hiding his face again, "I'm fine just burying my head in the sand and pretending it never happened."

"I think we just saw that's not true," Alice says quietly.

"Agreed," says Lily, "so. What's so bad about Sirius knowing that you have Feelings for him?"

"Because nothing can ever happen and so it will make our friendship super weird – it's already making our friendship weird, and-"

"Why can nothing ever happen?"

"Because he's – _everything,_ " Remus waves his hand, unable to explain quite what Sirius _is –_ but knowing that Lily and Alice will understand anyway, because they adore Sirius just as much as he does. "And I'm-" he gestures vaguely at himself, " _this."_

Alice slaps his arm – gently, obviously, because she's thoughtful and good and Remus loves her _so_ much – and says sharply, "careful now. It sounded a lot like you were about to be down on yourself."

Remus sighs, "I just mean that compared to him –" Lily raises her eyebrows and Remus changes track sharply. "My life's not going anywhere, and sometimes it feels like I have nothing going for _me_ , and I know that's not true, and I'm working on it, but I can't help it, and – I just – Sirius deserves _everything_."

When he finally looks up, he's not surprised to see Alice and Lily staring at him. What is surprising is the near unbearable sadness in their eyes.

Lily's voice is heavy and a little tired, "one day, Remus, I swear to God, you will see yourself the way we all see you."

" _You_ deserve everything too," Alice adds, the corners of her mouth tugging down uncharacteristically.

"Can we not?" Remus loves his friends – unquestionably, unshakeably; they are the best part of him, and he is frequently overwhelmed by the thought that these incredible, wonderful beings love him too. But sometimes it's not a good overwhelming, and right now, he's uncomfortable enough as it is, and any more of their unbounding affection, and he's going to start crying again.

Lily makes a slightly frustrated noise, but lets it go, and Alice purses her lips a little. "Okay. So, 'worst case scenario:' Sirius knows that you have a crazy big crush on him. What's the worst that could happen?"

Remus frowns, because Alice and Lily are two of the smartest, fiercest women he knows, but they're asking the most inane questions. "He gets weirded out, our friendship is ruined, it splits the group and everyone sides with Sirius."

"Habibi, _never_." Alice looks aghast. "If you really think that we would all abandon you over something like this, then we're failing you as friends."

"You are just as important to us as Sirius," Lily says firmly, and Remus screws his eyes shut. (He's screwing this up, just like he's screwed up his friendship with Sirius. He doesn't want to talk about his shitty self-worth, he doesn't want to have to explain to them all the reasons why Sirius will absolutely never reciprocate his feelings; all he wants is to curl up in bed with a hot-water bottle and feel sorry for himself).

He's vaguely aware that Lily and Alice are silently communicating whilst his eyes are shut – probably in BSL, James paid for everybody to have classes the moment Peter joined their group – and he's resigning himself to yet another pep talk about how loved he is, but –

"Okay, what if this is a classic example of your anxiety working everything up, and he doesn't actually know, and everything stays the same?"

Remus opens his eyes in surprise. "That'd be the best solution," he says, like it's obvious, because that would be ideal, right? That's what he wants, isn't it?

There's a pause, and Alice and Lily exchange another Look, and Remus realises he's missing something significant. He sort of wants to ask what it is, but his stomach is hurting worse and worse by the second, this conversation is draining more and more of his energy – not a good sign considering he has work later.

"I promise we'll drop this if _you_ promise us that you'll talk to him," Lily says finally.

" _Soon_ ," adds Alice.

The thought of hashing all this out with Sirius makes Remus' anxiety _spike_ , and his head spins a little even as he finds himself nodding in agreement. It seems to satisfy his friends for the time being though, because the conversation shifts to their jobs – Lily and Alice take lead of the conversation, whilst Remus leans back in the armchair, focusing on breathing through his nerves and massaging his stomach through the pain. (Neither do much to ease his suffering).

He loses track of time – it's only Alice nudging him and reminding him that he needs to get going for work that forces him to his feet.

"Thank you for putting up with me," he says, pulling his arms around himself, and his heart warm a little as the two of them scoff.

"We love you _so_ much, sweetheart," Lily murmurs before he leaves, and he nods, pecking her cheek, before turning to Alice.

"Don't lose hope. Things will work out, إن شاء الله," she presses a kiss to his other cheek, holds him tight in her embrace for a moment longer than necessary.

(His friends are the best things in his life; he will never stop being grateful to them, and he can only pray that this _thing_ with Sirius isn't about to fuck it all up, because it will tear him apart if it does).

* * *

It's not a long shift – only four or so hours, but Tom tries to convince him twice to go home in that time – and every time he catches sight of his reflection in the pint glasses, he has to resist a shudder, because he's all blotchy and clammy and a _fucking mess_. He has a minor moment of panic when his brain is too foggy to comprehend a customer's order, but Tom rescues him (" _if you won't go home, lad, then you're gonna at least take a fuckin' break,_ " and Remus spends the entire fifteen minutes in the breakroom curled in a ball on the floor).

Closing finally – _finally –_ arrives, the last of the regulars slope off, and Remus begins wiping down the tables and bar top, moving slowly to accommodate his aching everything. The soft music – usually obscured by the noise and bustle of the pub – drifts over the empty room, and he's _so_ fucking tired.

"Can I get a drink?"

"We're closed," says Remus automatically, before he tenses as he recognises the voice. Sirius is leaning across the bar with his playful smirk, and he looks – _fantastic_ , of course he does. (And Remus is pale and sweating with how much pain he's in, and the bags under his eyes are now taking up most of his face, he looks – _dreadful,_ of course he does).

"Hey," says Sirius, his smirk fading in to something a little more cautious, and his gaze flickers over Remus concernedly.

"Hi," Remus says, because, in spite of Alice and Lily's best efforts to prepare him for this moment, he doesn't have a fucking clue what to do now that he's actually face-to-face with Sirius.

Sirius clears his throat, clearly just as aware of the awkwardness as Remus. "How've you been? S'been a while."

Remus grips the underside of the bar for support, feeling a little weak with panic. He knows Sirius is anxious too – he's picking at his cuff with one hand, and he keeps adjusting his stance from one leg to the other, and Remus _doesn't know what to say._

"Oh… uh, I mean, you know, busy…" he winces at his own excuses, looks down at the glasses he's wiping dry, desperate for some sort of distraction. "How have you been?" He chances a glance back up at Sirius.

He's frowning, studying Remus – taking in the way his hands are shaking slightly with the effort of putting the glasses away, at the way he's cradling his stomach with his arm. He takes a breath, and meets Remus' eyes squarely. "Not that great. Anxious as heck. Missed you," he chuckles self-consciously.

Remus' throat is dry and his stomach is churning, but if Sirius can be brave enough to be honest, then _fuck it_ , so can he. He swallows, "I missed you too."

"Then why didn't you _text_? Or call, or _something?_ " Sirius blurts, and the way his eyes widen shows that he didn't mean to say that out loud. Remus sees Sirius' fingers clench around his thigh – a sure-fire sign that he is Anxious - and his fingers itch with the urge to reach out and take it, to help in some way. But he can't. He doesn't have that right.

He can't hold Sirius' gaze any longer. He looks away, breathing through his own anxiety, and forces himself to be honest. "I think – I – uh, I made things weird between us, didn't I?" His chest tightens painfully as he admits it out loud, _hate-guilt-shame_ tearing through him.

"What makes you say that?" Sirius' voice is careful and measured, and Remus wants to scream, because Sirius is actually going to make him say it – he can't he can't he can't –

He can't do it. Lying to Sirius makes him feel like the scum of the Earth – he _is_ the scum of the Earth for even _considering_ it, but what choice does he have? Lily and Alice were _wrong_ – he doesn't deserve Sirius, _nobody_ deserves Sirius; Sirius is too good and amazing and wonderful, and Remus could never give him the life he deserves.

( _This is for the best_ ).

( _Right?_ )

He keeps his voice as light as possible, forces a smile to his lips, which probably looks a little too-brittle, but he can always blame it on his fibro. What's one more lie between them? "Not sure really… it's not like we haven't kissed before – I just, on the hand, it's a bit weird, right?"

(His heart is doing something _wrong_ and _painful_ – a different kind of pain to the pain shooting up and down his body, but no less real. This pain is buried deep, a sort of tearing in his chest, like someone is actually trying to rip his heart out and squeeze the bloody tatters out through his ribcage).

( _This is how his heart breaks_ ).

There's a pause. It's tense and _wrong_ and overwhelmingly _bad_. And then –

Sirius laughs, only it's wrong, there's something wrong – Sirius' laugh should be delighted and joyful and loud and _this,_ this is none of those things; it's forced and uncomfortable and a little awkward, and Remus' heart _aches_ a little, because he doesn't know how to fix this. He's fucked up, he's ruined everything, he's in so much fucking pain and he's fucking exhausted and he can't – he just _can't._

The sob rises in his throat, even as Sirius is choosing his reply. "A little, I guess. But that's no reason to go all AWOL on me, okay?"

Remus ducks his head to hide the tears forming on his lashes, and nods. "Sorry – I won't do it again."

"Please don't." Sirius' voice is too soft and tender and full of something that Remus can't place – the sincerity though nearly breaks his resolve to not tell Sirius everything, and he bites down his lip hard enough to taste copper to stop himself from spilling it all.

He nods again, not trusting his voice, and takes a few deep breaths, licking at his lips where they're oozing blood.

"Are you nearly done here?" Sirius asks, and the change of subject is both relieving and distressing.

"Gotta finish with the sweeping," Remus mumbles to the floor, and the thought of that much movement makes him want to give in to the tears completely and just sob on the ground.

Sirius claps his hands. "Go sit. I'll sweep."

He's already marching towards the cleaning cupboard by the time Remus is stumbling for a reply. "No – I can – you shouldn't-"

Sirius is back, broom and dustpan in hand, and he presses his spare palm against Remus' cheek gently. "Remus. You look like shit. You're obviously in pain. Please, for the love of God, humour me and go sit down."

Remus wants to argue. He really intends to, except he finds himself wandering in a zombie-like state towards the soft sofa seats, and watching through half-open eyes as Sirius makes short work of the sweeping. (Another reason he doesn't deserve Sirius).

A shadow falls in front of his face, and then there are warm hands in his, helping him to his feet. He staggers a little, and an arm slides around his waist, supporting him until he's steadier. "I'll walk you home," Sirius says quietly, and it's not a question, but Remus still nods his assent, too tired to argue with him.

The walk back (and Remus insists on a walk, because he absolutely cannot spare the cash for a taxi, and Sirius had already done too much for him this evening) is a sign of how strong their friendship is – it's quietly pleasant, comfortable, in spite of the recent tension, everything is exactly as it should be. And yet, something has changed between them, Remus is sure of it – there's something _different_ behind Sirius' eyes, something _more_ in his smile, and Remus desperately wishes he could place exactly what it is, if only he weren't so bloody tired. Sirius keeps up a stream of only-slightly-nervous-chatter, and Remus lets it wash over him, too focused on his own pain and self-loathing and guilt to really focus on what he's saying. (Ironically, the thought of his self-absorption only adds to his self-loathing and guilt, and he knows vaguely that this is going to spiral, that he is Not Okay).

(He misses the way Sirius' smile is a little sad, his eyes a little disappointed, as they say their good nights in front of Remus' apartment block. He has no way of knowing that the second he disappears through the door, Sirius is on the phone to James – " _Prongs, I thought you said he felt the same, I don't understand, I thought – I hoped –"_. He's busy crashing fully-clothed in to bed, the guilt and the pain and the shame digging their claws tightly in to his body, and pulling him away from a restful sleep).

* * *

PLEASE DON'T HATE ME I PROMISE THIS WILL BE HAPPY

Sorry this is dialogue-heavy, especially since I'm not that good at writing dialogue, but I was craving some Alice-Lily-Remus friendship, and then Remus and Sirius had to have a Conversation so.. dialogue~. Also sorry that this didn't go where I know some of you wanted it to - they'll get there, I promise!

So I've mentioned before that Remus has Fibromyalgia, and as this chapter revealed, Alice is epileptic and Lily has Ulcerative Colitis. I have three friends who have their own "Three Spoonies" group and they meet up once a fortnight and bitch about being chronically ill. Their experiences are forming the basis for my writing about Remus, Lily and Alice, and obviously they don't represent everybody suffering with these chronic illnesses, but I hope what I've written isn't miles off, at least.

الحمد الله / al-hamdu Allah = "praise be to God" and إن شاء الله / in sha' Allah = "God be willing"

tbh I just wanted to show off that I speak Arabic lmao.

I know there are mistakes in this, I will edit tomorrow when I feel more human and less exhausted-robot.

If y'all have any questions, requests or just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel), twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here!

Y'all are so so so kind, and I'm so grateful for your wonderful feedback!

Love always & take care xoxo


	6. Have a good day at work

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for mentions of anxiety.

* * *

 **"Have a good day at work."**

 _Smart-casual._

 _What does that even mean?_

Sirius stares himself down in the mirror – his hair has never looked glossier, his eyeliner is absolutely on _point_ , his highlight is making him fucking _glow._ His outfit on the other hand – he's not so confident. Which is less than ideal, considering today marks his first day at Queerllustration, where, judging by what he'd seen at his interview, he'll be surrounded by beautifully-dressed and well put together arty types; he _cannot_ fuck up this look.

(Is it possible that he's pinning too much meaning on his make-up and clothing, and not enough on the actual _this-is-his-first-day-working-at-Queerllustration_ part of things? Yes, very, but that's only because if he stops to think about that fact for even a second, then he will actually _implode_ from anxiety – really, fashion is the only thing holding him together at this point).

A small part of him is livid at himself that he's not thought about this properly before now, but the other part – the half that accepts that he is a born procrastinator, far too used to being able to pull it out of the bag last minute and still get top marks, and will probably put off his own death out of sheer laziness – is lowkey impressed that he's doing this a whole _two hours_ before he has to leave.

The Sia track in the background changes to something more dance-y, and Sirius absent-mindedly swishes his hips in time to the beat, lets his skirt fan out around his thighs as he surveys his reflection critically. What he needs, he decides, is a second opinion. Ordinarily, James would be delighted to advise, would probably demand a fashion show complete with lighting and music, but alas, he is already at school with Kingsley, organising his breakfast club for the disadvantaged kids of the area. Similarly, Lily's at morning classes, and then she'll head straight to work –

Decisions are so goddamn hard. Smart casual is so fucking _vague._

He takes a calming breath, though it does fuck-all to actually calm him down, and then angles his phone carefully, before snapping a quick selfie. He drops it in to the group chat with " _smart casual"_ and a string of question marks and thinking emojis. The replies come within ten minutes as he stews, trying to resist the urge to gnaw on his nails in nervousness.

 **Alice:** _slaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy [fire emoji]_

 **Wormtail:** _[Brooklyn Nine-Nine gif of Captain Raymond Holt saying "hot damn!"]_

 **Prongs:** _babe_

 **Prongs:** _you are stunning_

 **Prongs:** _utter perfection_

 **Prongs:** _I am high key in love with you_

 **Lils:** _I second everything J said_

 **Lils:** _(dat eyeliner tho [okay sign emoji] [100% sign emoji])_

 **Kingsley:** _yaaasss queen_

 **Marlene:** _[thumbs up emoji] [crown emoji] [love heart eyes emoji]_

 **Frank:** _u look great bud_

His heart warms at their encouragement, and the ball of anxiousness that's been swelling in his stomach shrinks ever so slightly. Returning lovehearts to each of them (different colours for each person, obviously, and the sparkly one for James because he's hella extra), he pauses over Remus' name, where his message is still marked unread. He knows he's being daft – he has reassurances from almost all of the people he loves the most in the world, but he _needs_ Remus' approval on this, because Remus always seems to know _exactly_ what to say. And besides, he knows Remus doesn't have work this morning, because he'd made Sirius promise to ring if he needs anything.

 _Does this count?_ Probably not what Remus had had in mind, honestly – Remus goes for comfort over statement, though he has a unique and incredible ability to look cute in sweatpants and a holey jumper – but his opinion still holds a special place in Sirius' heart.

Things have _almost_ gone back to normal between them after… whatever it was that twisted, warped and broke last week, and Sirius is _fine,_ he _is,_ and _no, Prongs, he doesn't want to talk about it anymore,_ he's _fine._

The crushing disappointment is an aching lump in his chest, exacerbating the anxiety and the insecurities that always lurk just beneath his ribcage, and he's cried and cried and cried (and sure, he's a crier, but even for him, this is A Lot), trying to batter his _stupid_ heart in to getting over the warmth and love and _everything_ that Remus is.

But yeah, he's _fine._

(Shut _up,_ Prongs, he will be _fine_ ).

Before he chokes up about it all over again, he jabs at Remus' number, holding his breath as the dial tone sounds, then waits –

And waits –

And –

Just when he's convinced himself that Remus isn't going to answer, and the panic _lurches_ up his throat so fast he thinks he might actually _vomit_ all over his lap –

"Moony – what does smart casual mean?" he says urgently, the second Remus picks up. (It takes a moment to register that the long wait means that Remus was probably sleeping, and the grogginess as he mumbles, "hello?" confirms this).

Guilt floods through him, as he hears Remus moving around – presumably sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes, squinting at the clock on his bedside table – and it's so fucking domestic that his heart _aches_ for it a little. "Give me a second, Pads," he says, his voice still heavy and thick with sleep.

"Sorry I woke you-" Sirius begins, unable to stop the guilt from pouring out of his mouth. "I know you're probably exhausted – I just needed some advice – I – sorry."

"It's _fine,_ Pads," Remus says, and he just _knows_ that Remus is rolling his eyes at him, even though it's not fine that he disturbed his rest when he's already so tired, he's a _shitty_ friend-

"Okay. What was the question again?" Remus asks through a yawn.

He takes a breath to thank whatever deity is controlling his life that Remus is so Good and kind and forgiving. "Smart-casual. What does that mean, I don't know what to doooo."

Sirius can hear Remus' smile, and the line crackles a little as Remus sighs fondly – because his phone is ancient and terrible and barely functions as a phone anymore. "What are you wearing?"

"My black skirt – the one with the pleats that goes all _whoosh_ , you know?"

"Cute," Remus interjects, and Sirius' heart does a little swoop.

"Plus my black boots, tights, and my green blousey thing."

"Double triple cute," Remus says, "you look great in green." There's something about just-woken-up Remus that's even more wonderful than normal-Remus, and Sirius had no idea that such a thing was possible. This Remus is so openly affectionate, so soft, so warm - so _wrong_ though because-

Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Red's more my thing."

Remus makes a noise of agreement. "I guess. You look good in all the colours."

Sirius heart _sings._ "All of them?" he asks – too soft, too fond, too obvious.

"All of the colours," Remus repeats, his words slurring slightly, and Sirius can tell he's starting to drift back to sleep – he's probably horizontal once more, his phone balanced precariously on one ear.

And he's selfish and the _worst,_ but he doesn't want Remus to hang up yet, even though he knows that Remus needs all the sleep he can get. Because when he's talking to Remus, he can pretend like the anxiety stirring in his gut is just excitement, like it's something manageable that isn't going to chew him up and spit him out before he even sets foot outside.

"I just – is it too much? Should I just go all classic white-boy and do a polo neck and chinos, like?"

Remus makes a little pained noise, and it's honest-to-God _adorable_. "Nooo, why would you do that?"

Sirius flops back on to his bed with a sigh, a hand on his chest where it's sort of hard to breathe if he thinks about work too much. "I – I know I can be A Lot, sometimes maybe Too Much, you know? I want them to like me-"

" _No_ , Padfoot, no no no," Remus sounds suddenly much more awake, the distress sharpening his tone. "Never. You're never Too Much, you're perfect, and if they don't like you, then-" he flounders, because it's early and his brain isn't quite caught up with his mouth yet. "Please never think that," he says, "you shouldn't have to change yourself when yourself is so utterly loveable and brilliant."

Sirius is slightly horrified to feel the lump in the back of his throat, partly because if he cries now, he's going to _ruin_ his eyeliner, and partly because he _adores_ this man with everything he has; every single atom in his body is hopelessly devoted to him, and perhaps always will be.

"I guess," he manages, after a pause, once he's sure that his voice isn't going to crack.

Remus lets out an "oomph" and a groan, and Sirius is about to ask what's wrong – probably in a voice laced with too much concern – when he hears a thrumming purr through the phone. "Is that Winky?" he says instead, unable to stop the childlike grin from spreading across his face.

"Yeah," Remus chuckles, "she says hello." The purring gets louder as Remus presumably holds the phone against Winky's chest, like the completely wonderful _dork_ he is.

Sirius laughs, and the anxiety takes a hit. Not a large one, not enough to do lasting damage, but enough to hold it at bay for now. He loosens his grip around his chest. _Breathe._

"Anyway," Remus continues. "Love, do you want to work in a place where you can't dress like yourself?"

Sirius closes his eyes, because Remus is _right._ He's always _right,_ it floors Sirius every time Remus demonstrates just _how well_ he knows Sirius. "No," he says quietly.

There's a moment of quiet, in which they just listen to each other _breathe_. It's soft and intimate and perfect, and for a minute, Sirius can forget that he's starting a new job in less than two hours, that he's going to have to deal with all these new people and responsibilities, and just _be._

"How are you feeling?" Remus murmurs eventually.

Sirius starts to say that he's fine, then remembers who he's speaking to, and ends up making a noise like he's been trampled on.

"That well, huh?" Remus says, and Sirius laughs humourlessly. There's another pause, then Remus continues equally gently. "You know that _I_ know that you're gonna fucking smash it. You're gonna go in there and blow them away with your brilliance and your talent, because _that's what you do._ You're gonna charm the pants off all of them, you're gonna look unbelievably cute, you're gonna have the best day ever."

Sirius screws his eyes shut against the tenderness in his voice. "But, what if-"

" _Sirius._ You're gonna make me proud – you're gonna make all of us so bloody proud, because you're not capable of doing anything less. You make us proud every day by being _you_. So, go out there, be yourself, make us proud, we will love you and support you _no matter what."_

The lump is back in Sirius' throat and it's actually _impossible_ for him to speak around it. He presses his fingers in to his eyes, willing himself not to cry, his heart entirely _full_ with how much Remus means to him, _overflowing_ with love and gratefulness and friendship. It takes him several seconds to breathe through his tears, and his voice is horribly wobbly and crackly when he finally finds it again.

"I couldn't do this without you, Moony."

"I don't believe that for a second. I know you. You're amazing."

 _I love you,_ he almost replies, then catches himself last minute – because although they say it to each other all the time, although it's the most honest thing he can think of, it's too soon after the mess of last week, and right now, it would be too honest, too true, too much. Instead he says, "I – uh I – I should go get ready. I – thank you, Moony. Thank you so much."

"Of course," Remus says immediately. "My phone will be on loud all day, so if you need anything, then just ring, okay?"

"Yeah."

"It's going to be okay. It's going to be better than okay."

"Yeah."

"Have a good day at work, Pads. I'm so, _so_ proud of you." Remus' voice is nothing but sincere, kindness in every syllable.

"Thank you, Moons. I – I'll call you tonight, yeah?"

"Come over, I'm in all evening… you can hang out with Winky, and we can watch Bake Off, and eat cake, and you can tell me all about how brilliant you were."

Remus' faith in him is so staggering that Sirius actually feels a little unsteady, even though he's sitting down. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."

"Bye, love."

"Bye, Moony."

Sirius takes a deep breath – then another – gets to his feet, straightens his skirt, and makes his way out of his room and in to the kitchen. Because fate seems to be on his side this morning, the current song that's playing transitions in to _Rainbow_ , and Sirius feels his anxiety shrink even more as the familiar chords, coupled with Kesha's gorgeous voice, wash over him. Instead, his heart swells as he catches sight of the note that James has tacked to the kitchen counter.

 _Padfoot –_

 _Today is a big day, and you're going to be amazing. More than amazing. You're going to shine like the fucking star that you are. I'm so proud of you. Go and make your dreams come true 3_

 _Endless love from your best friend, who is only a phone call away, and can't wait to hear all about it._

 _Prongs_

The tears threaten to return, and – fuck it, at this point, he's going to have to redo his make-up anyway – he lets them, because _he doesn't deserve_ James' unbounding love and affection _._ He sends a snap of his watery eyes to James with a string of hearts, and then catches sight of the pot that's resting in the oven. It's warm when he pulls it out, and as he lifts the lid, the sweet, milky aroma of _kheer_ hits his nose, and it's like James has enveloped him in a hug _– he loves him, he loves him, he loves him._

Once he'd started spending all of his free time at James' family home, once James' parents had come to look on him as their own son, James' mother would make _kheer_ specially for Sirius whenever he was having a particularly Anxious Day. On the days when the thought of leaving the safety of his bed made his chest tight and painful, on the days when having to get dressed and _be a person_ made him want to curl up in a ball and cry, James' mother would appear in his room with a steaming bowl of _kheer_ and a chai tea, and she would just sit and listen to him talk about his fears. It was the kind of relationship he'd never had – and never would have – with his own mother, and these quiet mornings are some of his most cherished memories with James' family.

After they'd moved out, James had taken over the tradition, and there's always a pot of kheer ready on the mornings before exams, interviews, Bad Days – whenever Sirius needs it to be honest –because James is unfailingly generous and loving, showering his friends with care and support at the drop of a hat. (Sirius has never found the words to express just _how_ grateful he is for James' friendship – and it's not for lack of trying).

Unlike the White People version that sits heavy in his stomach like a flavourless weight, this is light, tasty, full of love and kindness and confidence – and it's the boost Sirius needs to get himself up and ready.

(He's still anxious. He's still a Bit of a Mess, and he's still half-convinced that his new colleagues will think he's Too Much, and hate him and his quirky queer self on sight. But he has friends who will stand by him, no matter what, who cherish him and care about him and make his heart _sing_ with happiness at the thought of them.

He can do this).

* * *

"-And then they introduced me to the rest of the team I'm working with, and Akilah – my supervisor – said they loved my boots! And I got to meet the person _who actually_ _created Eclipse_ , Moony, I nearly died, _I met my fucking idol_ , and xe was amazing. And-"

Sirius is horribly aware that he hasn't stopped monologuing for approximately fifteen minutes – ever since Remus had made the terrible mistake of saying, " _tell me everything_ ," with that warm, lovely, ridiculously-dimply smile. But he can't seem to stop the words from overflowing out of his mouth, because his whole body is _flooded_ with good vibes and pleasant memories, and sure, he's exhausted, but he's also thrumming with excitement for what the future now holds, and this – _this –_ is why he wanted to go in to Illustration.

Remus doesn't say much; he nods and laughs and makes the appropriate noises, head tilted to one side. (Sirius can't _believe_ how soft and cuddly and cosy Remus looks – he's wearing a thick burgundy sweater that's unravelling at the sleeves, ratty sweatpants, mustard-yellow fluffy socks, and glasses, and Sirius is _dying_ ) _._ If Sirius keeps rattling off nonsense at Remus, he can ignore how Remus' fingers are clenched around the hot water bottle pressed against his stomach, at how tired and world-weary he looks, at how he rubs at his temples every thirty seconds or so – because Remus had made it very clear when he walked through the door, that this was not a topic of conversation.

Winky hops up in to Sirius' lap, and he pauses to greet her. She arches up in to his hand with a mewling sound, and he can't help but coo back at her. Remus snorts, and Sirius pulls a face at him. "What?"

"She's got you wrapped round her paw," Remus says fondly.

"Of course she does, look at her, she's perfect." Winky purrs and settles down on his thighs. "Aren't you, yes you are!"

Remus rolls his eyes, but reaches a hand out to scratch behind Winky's ears. "So, to summarise, your first day was amazing?" he prompts.

"Understatement – it was – overwhelming, but not in a bad way? They actually seemed to _like_ me and my art, and they really seemed _excited_ to work with me, I can't – I can't believe it."

"I can," Remus says softly. "I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah, you said," Sirius says, unable to stop the blush creeping up his cheeks, because Remus looks so goddamn _sincere_ and _happy_ for him. There's a comfortable pause, and then Remus clears his throat.

"So, I know I promised you cake, but, well, that didn't happen," he rubs at his left arm – a tell that Sirius knows means he's embarrassed, and his heart twinges a little, because does he not know that just being here and listening to him is more than enough? – and continues, "But we can order whatever you like, and I have all of the new series of Bake Off recorded."

"The _new_ series?" Sirius fakes affront. "Moony, you traitor, what would Mary Berry say?"

"Oh come on, you're just as curious as I am."

"True."

They snuggle together on Remus' shitty, ancient sofa, with a fluffy blanket and Winky and Chinese food, in front of Bake Off, and honestly, Sirius can't think of a better way to spend the evening of his first day. Eventually, he'll have to head home, and be cuddled within an inch of his life by James, but right now, he can just exist in this comfortable, safe bubble of happiness and warmth with one of his favourite people in the world.

And it's perfect.

* * *

Sorry the ending sucks, lmao.

\- Honestly though what is smart casual?

\- If you're gonna try and convince me that Sirius wouldn't wear skirts and eyeliner, I will fight you.

\- I only found out when I was writing this that kheer is apparently a pudding? I've only ever eaten it when my friend makes it for breakfast before exams because xe's a sweetheart, but anyway, it's delicious and makes me feel better 10/10 would recommend. (If I've said something wrong, please feel free to correct me).

\- Kesha is hella problematic but Rainbow is so magic and v v special to me.

\- I love my bi son James who aggressively loves Sirius with everything that he has.

\- GBBO is a Really Big Deal in the UK, and basically if you missed out on the drama, it moved from the BBC to Channel 4, which caused Great Controversy. (I know, I know).

If y'all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here to get in touch!

Y'all are wonderful, I'm so grateful for your support!

Love always & take care xoxo


	7. I dreamed about you last night

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for this chapter: anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and ideation, the vaguest references to past suicide attempt, generally appalling mental health, references to eating disorders, self-hate and negative comments about weight (it ain't a happy one, folks)

* * *

 **7\. I dreamed about you last night**

Remus wakes with his mouth stretched in a silent scream, limbs taut, stomach churning, to find –

Nothing.

Obviously, nothing; it was a dream, and that was all – or maybe, judging by his state of being, a nightmare – the details of which are fast slipping through his fingers. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, and it's an effort to untangle his fists from where they're clenched around his sheets. The flashing images are already losing their vividness – if only his lungs could get the memo that _it wasn't fucking real, get over it_. He forces in deeper breaths, counting them slowly out, and in, like he's been taught, and then chugs the glass of water on his bedside table, as soon as he thinks he can down it without choking. A little dribbles down his chin and neck, but the cool liquid settles like a weight in his stomach, grounding him a little more – enough to glance across at the clock and see 02:37am glowing back at him.

For _fuck's_ sake – twice in one night? He drags a tired hand down his face, wondering just _how_ much of this he's supposed to take. How much more _can_ he take, before he gives in and tries something else, because this is frankly _ridiculous._ The doctor had warned him that upping his medications would affect his sleeping patterns, but he can't remember the last night of unbroken sleep.

(When does this end? When does he get to resign from this mental health shitstorm – when is he allowed to drop out?)

He does his best to halt that line of thought right there, knows that he's only thinking it because he's exhausted and running on the fumes of sleepless nights, knows where those thoughts lead.

(It's too late. The dark, empty ache in his chest is back, heavier than ever – how can such an empty feeling press down on him enough to make him feel like he's suffocating?)

The uneasiness that lingers from the nightmare sinks its claws in to Remus' brain, and he's _spiralling;_ the black murkiness that drags him down so often these days clings to his vision, and out of it, crawls the all-too-familiar _worthlessness despair hopelessness hate hate hate –_

His lungs are tight again, only this time it's like something's sitting on his heart, restricting the air in his chest to frantic gasps, and he knows what he wants to do – what he _needs_ to do. The urge to _hurt_ himself is a fierce, burning, boiling _need_ beneath his skin – to mark himself up in some way, so that there's some kind of _visible_ proof that the turmoil in his head is _real_ and _happening_ and _valid_ – something that will make people not just listen, but _hear_ him when he reaches out for help, something that will stop the doctors from brushing him off as "distressed, but not a pressing concern" –

He digs his nails in to his palms, willing himself not to scream. Instead, tears prickle in his eyes, and he is stretched too thin emotionally to even _attempt_ to stop them from falling.

( _You need to call someone,_ his mind supplies, as his coping mechanisms _finally_ kick in, and he bites back the panic that swells in his chest, fills his mouth, squeezes his tongue, at the thought of someone seeing him like this, because he is _past that,_ damn it). He fumbles for his phone, drops it twice, because his hands are sweating and shaking. There's an awful moment where he does actually scream, because his fingers are trembling so much that he gets his passcode wrong three times in a row. The thirty seconds he's locked out tick by so slowly, that Remus convinces himself that time itself has stopped, but then finally – _finally_ – he hits the right combination, and is scrolling through his contacts in desperate, sweeping motions.

He slams the call button, and shakily presses the screen to his forehead as he waits. The ringing lasts four lifetimes, and the panic of _what-if-he-picks-up-what-if-he-doesn't-pick-up-I'm-awful-awful-awful_ rises so fast that it's almost vomit-inducing. But then –

"Hello?" croaks a familiar voice, and Remus sobs quietly before he can help himself, as a bizarre _relief-but-still-panic_ washes over him. He wades through the self-loathing that he's woken a friend up at two in the fucking morning ( _selfish, selfish, selfish_ ) –

"Prongs," he manages, and hears James' intake of breath.

Give me _one_ second, Moony," he whispers, and there's movement at his end – a murmuring sound (presumably Lily) – and when he speaks again, his voice is still hushed, but Remus can tell from the acoustics that he's moved rooms. "I'm here, love, talk to me."

"It's – bad – " Remus gets out, digging ragged nails in to his forearms now, silently pleading for James to _make it better._

"Breathe for me, love," James keeps his voice gentle, and Remus obediently inhales, the rush of air dizzying. "Did something happen?"

"Bad dream," Remus' voice cracks, and he _hates_ himself, _hates_ that he can't handle a stupid nightmare, _hates_ how scared he is of what his life is becoming, but most of all, he hates how he's nauseous with embarrassment, because objectively, he _knows_ that this isn't something to be ashamed of.

James doesn't say ' _it's okay, it wasn't real, it's over now, there's nothing to be afraid of,'_ doesn't say any of the well-intentioned things that people tend to blurt. He doesn't laugh, doesn't make light of any of it, because James, of all people, knows that sometimes nothing is more real – nothing is _scarier_ – than the inside of your head.

Instead, he says, "hey, did I tell you about what Lionel did at school last week?" When Remus pauses, he launches in to an embellished tale about a brilliant, but mischievous, pupil who had managed to put the school's science block up for sale. Remus doesn't pay full attention as to the details of how Lionel had pulled it off, but he allows the rise and fall of James' expressive narration to wash over him, dragging him back to the shore and anchoring him there. When James finally finishes his story, he pauses for a few seconds, and says gently, "how are we doing?"

Remus inhales, relishing in how _easy_ it is now, and leans back against the headboard. "Better."

"Good."

James lets the silence stretch out for another few minutes, and Remus closes his eyes, tipping his head until it connects with the wall with a _thunk_. His whole body is aching with exhaustion, but it's not the kind that will allow him to rest, because whilst the panic attack is gone, the anxiety lingers in his chest and mind.

"What's going on, love?" James says, and Remus curls his fingers in to his palms.

"I… I haven't been doing well," he says finally, and in spite of the blatancy of that statement, James doesn't scoff. He makes a soft humming sound, a kind of 'go on' encouragement. "I can't sleep. I can't – everything _hurts_ all the time. I – I – I –" His chest is constricting once more, and this time he's too fatigued and drained to even fight it. He makes a choked sort of gagging sound. "I don't know what's _changed_ ," his voice cracks, and James takes a breath.

"Okay. Okay, love, keep breathing. Do you want me to come over?" His voice is carefully measured, and Remus knows that James would be here in a heartbeat if he asked. There's a large part of him that is longing for James' understanding silences, his warm hugs, and his gentle questions. But he can't do that to him. Not when James has to be up in – he glances at the clock – _two hours_ for work. Guilt slithers in to his chest to join the anxiety, and he truly _does not understand_ what he did to deserve a friend like James.

Despite everything in his heart demanding the opposite, he says, "no. No, it's okay."

"Are you sure? I can be at yours in ten minutes. It's not a problem."

Remus squeezes his eyes tightly shut. "No. Honestly, it's fine."

James makes a humming sound, "okay. Fine. But I'm coming over tomorrow after school, and we're gonna talk." He says it with the same kind firmness that makes him such a popular teacher, and Remus – despite all the darkness inside him whispering that he's not worth it – mumbles an agreement.

"Thank you."

Remus can't speak – if he does, he thinks he'll start crying those huge, uncontrollable, wet sobs, and then there will be no stopping James.

"I love you, Moony. See you tomorrow." James hesitates. "Please take care. I'll have my phone on all day."

Remus swallows hard, and the lump in the back of his mouth temporarily retreats to his throat. His voice is more than a little wobbly as he says, "I love you too. Thank you," but he hangs up before James can say anything more.

He drops his phone on the mattress next to him without locking it. For thirty seconds, the room is semi-lit with a pale glow that casts horrendously elongated shadows against the walls, before everything goes dark. Remus' chest feels simultaneously hollow and heavy, his head is swirling with anxiety and misery and self-hatred, his limbs are aching and leaden. He forces his palms flat against the mattress, ignoring the blood oozing from them that smears across the sheets. The thought of tomorrow's – _or rather today's_ – arduous conversation further drains his energy.

And yet sleep is tantalisingly out of reach.

Sunlight is peeking through the blinds and shooting shafts of light across the room before he drags himself of the dark depths of his depression. It's stale and stifling in here, but it's far enough to the window that he can't help but cringe at the thought of leaving the bed to open it. Throughout the night, he's slid a little down the wall, and the awkwardness of the position has transformed the ache in his shoulders and back in to a full-blown _burning_ pain. It takes an excruciating amount of time to summon the energy to move, but finally, he unsticks his palms from where they're gummed to the mattress with blood, and shuffles in to a horizontal position. His phone is dead, but thankfully the charging cord is within arm's reach, and he uses the last of his strength to plug the phone in.

When sleep does come, it's the restless kind – the kind where you toss and turn with uneasiness, where you wake up feeling even more groggy and spent than before, where panic and fear jerk you awake every few minutes. It's a throbbing pain in his lower stomach that finally wakes him for good, and it's severe enough that he has to bully himself in to leaving his bed. Winky winds around his legs as he staggers to the bathroom. Doubled over, he retches over the toilet, but there's nothing to bring up, and he dumps half a box of food in to Winky's bowl before he crawls back in to bed with a hot water bottle, tears stinging at his eyes, because _he hates this. He can't keep doing this – he cannot._

* * *

Later that day, when he's curled up in bed with a now-lukewarm hot water bottle clutched against his stomach, and surrounded by copious amounts of lemon and ginger tea, his alarm goes off to remind him to take his medication. It's only as he's popping the little blue tablets and swallowing them dry that he actually checks his screen, and he feels his tummy swoop pleasantly when he reads 'Pads 3 (5 messages)'.

 **Pads 3 (11:13):** hey, prongs told me things were rough last night [sad face emoji] i'm here for you [sparkling heart emoji]

 **Pads 3 (12:15):** do you want company? or snacks? cuddles? anything tbh

 **Pads 3 (14:56):** moonbeam. i dreamed about you last night. and i don't remember what it was about. i just know that you were there, and i woke up feeling so warm and safe and cared for. this is the way i feel about you all the time. you make me warm and safe and cared for

 **Pads 3 (14:57):** you make so many people feel so much better, especially me. please don't deny yourself the same love you show everybody else. we are here. we want to help.

 **Pads 3 (16:34):** i'm sorry to do this bc you shouldn't reply unless you want to, but if you could just let me know you're ok/not alone it would rly help my gremlin brain i'm sorry

Remus feels the guilt curling around his gut as he realises that his silence is making Sirius anxious – the feeling contrasts sharply against the soft, tug-of-heartstrings that Sirius' messages give him. Thankfully, his last message is less than an hour old, and he quickly taps out a reply:

 **You (17:19):** hey, sorry to worry you. I'm okay, I've been sleeping a lot, sorry for the late reply

The reply comes almost immediately, and Remus feels another squirm of guilt at the thought of Sirius obsessively checking his phone for a response.

 **Pads 3 (17:21):** moony! no no don't apologise. how are you feeling? is there anything i can do?

 **You (17:24):** no it's okay. Mostly just fibro pain, it's fine [smiling face emoji]

 **Pads 3 (17:25):** i mean. that's not fine.

 **Pads 3 (17:26):** prongs said he's coming to yours tonight… would it be okay if i tagged along? it's completely okay if not, i understand [sparkling heart emoji]

Remus hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Whilst Sirius has seen him at some of his lowest points, both physically and mentally, James had been the one he'd called for a reason. There are some things that only James knows, that only James _gets_ – James is one of the only people he can tell when he wants to be dead, when he wants to hurt himself, when everything is just Too Much. Remus likes to convince himself that it's because Sirius already has so much on his plate, but that's doing both he and James a disservice, because Sirius is stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and because James has a multitude of his own issues. Remus owes it to Sirius to _try,_ he knows that – after how open and brave Sirius has been with him lately, it's time for Remus to pluck up the courage to do the same.

But not tonight.

His heart is heavy with self-reproach as he taps out a response, and even though he _knows_ Sirius will understand, it doesn't stop the shame from mounting.

 **You (17:35):** I'm really sorry but I kind of need it to just be me and Prongs tonight? I'm so sorry

 **Padfoot 3 (17:36):** no no no! no need to be sorry, i understand. i love you and i'm here if there's anything i can do [sparkling heart emoji] xoxo

The weight in his chest doesn't shift, but Remus stares at the 'i love you' for the longest time; no matter how loudly his mind screams that he doesn't deserve anything good, the words don't change. Eventually, he dumps the phone back on the mattress, and then takes stock of his bedroom wearily. The blinds are still closed, it smells _vile_ , and there are dirty clothes and empty crisp packets littering the floor, twisted around clumps of cat hair. The rest of the flat isn't much better, he knows, because he just _doesn't have the energy_ for washing up or cleaning or even cooking any more. He is well aware that it's not doing his mental health, nor his waistline, any favours, but if he cared about that enough, then he wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place.

James is due in fifteen minutes, which regrettably isn't long enough to turn his dank hellhole in to a socially acceptable abode, but James won't care. James will _understand._ But that doesn't mean he can't make it even a little bit more pleasant, and so he drags himself from his bed, drapes himself in a blanket, and cranks the windows open in the apartment.

Winky comes running at the sound of movement, and he lets the guilt consume him for a moment at how _shit_ of a cat-dad he is being right now. But the kitten is more forgiving than he deserves, purring as she rubs against his feet, and he reaches down to scratch at her ears. He half-heartedly picks up a few takeout boxes and empty cans from the floor, and changes Winky's litter tray, before there's a knock at the door.

Anxiety, which has been dormant for a few hours in the place of an awful apathetic depression, surges over him at the thought of the conversation he has to have now. His chest is painfully tight as he moves towards the door, and his heart picks up pace with his breathing.

James looks tired as he opens the door, but he perks up the second he sees Remus, flinging his arms wide. "Moony!"

Remus steps in to his embrace, leaning his head against James' shoulder with a sigh. James smells like jelly babies and birthday cake and fresh-cut grass, and it's overwhelmingly familiar and comforting. It eases the frantic speed of his heart and loosens the bands around his body a little. James sighs too, resting a cheek against Remus' head, and says, "fuck, I've missed you." Remus suddenly realises that he hasn't showered in five days ( _disgusting, useless, lazy fuck_ ), and steps back quickly, drawing James in to his apartment and closing the door.

"It's been literally a week," Remus points out, though he adds quietly "I've missed you too."

James stoops down to pet Winky, even though it means he'll be sneezing all night, and smiles up at Remus. " _Exactly._ A _week_ without my moonshine." He stands again, rubs his already-reddening eyes, and puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the room. Remus starts to apologise, because now that another person is here, he can see just how bad it looks, but James shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. No apologies necessary. You _know_ I've been worse. Let's clean up a bit though, yeah? It'll help in the long run."

Remus nods, ducking his head in embarrassment, and James presses a hand against Remus' cheek, "stop spiralling. This is _not_ your fault. D'you want to talk as we tidy, or d'you want to wait?"

Remus' chest tightens in anxious anticipation. "Tell me about your day?" he says quietly, and James immediately obliges – of _course_ he does, because this is James Potter, aka the best person he is blessed to know.

(He can't help but feel awful at the fact that James has come from a long day at school, is obviously worn-out from a lack of sleep, and yet is now having to deal with his dysfunctional best friend. But he also knows that James would tackle him to the floor with a hug if he expressed any of that, and refuse to let him up until he relented).

(He knows this from experience).

Whipping a binbag from the cupboard under the sink, James begins to zip around the room, scooping up rubbish, with Remus trailing behind like a useless dead weight. Between the two of them (mostly James), they clear the room of trash, and James moves towards Remus' bedroom to tackle that danger zone. Despite his best efforts, Remus' movements are awkward and slow, because every time he twists, it sends shooting pains through his stiff limbs.

James catches him wincing as he exits the room with a grin, and his smile fades immediately. "Sit down," he says sharply, and within seconds, Remus is cocooned in a blanket on the sofa with a heat pad pressed against his stomach. Winky bounds on to his lap moments later, preventing him from getting up again, and James looks irritatingly smug. Remus tries to protest as James goes back to cleaning, because he is truly Too Good for Remus, and James tells him to fuck off fondly.

When James finally declares his satisfaction, the flat is almost unrecognisable, and not just because the floor is visible. He flops down next to Remus, and tucks himself in to Remus' side. (It's different to how it is when Sirius does it; with Sirius, Remus thinks his heart might implode with bittersweet adoration, with James, it's something equally warm, but without the unrequited romantic feelings).

Right on cue, there's a tapping at the door, and Winky raises her head curiously as James hops up with far too much energy for a man who has just worked a ten-hour day. He returns with two pizza boxes, dropping one to the other side of Remus with an "it's my treat." Remus pops the lid to see a thick layer of cheese bubbling over golden mushrooms and roasted peppers, and his heart threatens to turn to the same consistency as the cheese.

"It's kosher, don't worry," James says, already munching on his first slice.

"It's not – you didn't have to do this, Prongs." His voice has gone embarrassingly croaky, and James fixes him with a stern look, only slightly ruined by the string of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth.

(Remus swallows, and shoves down the voice that hisses that the last thing he should be eating is _more_ takeout, that he's already done enough damage with his depression binges, and that he doesn't fucking deserve any of this. It's easier to ignore with James pressed against his side than it was when he was alone and empty in his bed).

James keeps up a steady stream of chatter, chuckling at his own jokes as usual, and Remus soaks in his laughter, allowing it to sink in to his bones and gnaw away at his emptiness. Winky burrows further in to his lap, nosing the now-cold heat pad out of the way and replacing it with her own body heat. Her thrumming purrs as she naps go some way in settling his nerves. Eventually, their appetites sated, James turns to Remus with a more serious expression, and Remus' heart sinks, even as his anxiety skyrockets.

"How do you want to do this?" James says gently, and Remus clenches his fists involuntarily. James' eyes track the movement, and he says, "okay, maybe let's start there?"

Remus forces himself to nod minutely, and the action is like a huge _fuck you_ to the voices in his head – he physically feels, rather than hears, their clamouring and abuse falter for a moment, and it's an oddly triumphant surge of satisfaction for such a small motion.

"Can I see your hands?" James says carefully. He waits for Remus' assent, before gently turning Remus' hands palm-upwards. Both of his hands cup one of Remus', and the tenderness with which he's being handled is enough to tug at his heart, because he _is not worth such kindness._ James' expression remains carefully neutral as he takes in the harsh red marks, though Remus knows him well enough to catch the slight tightening of his mouth. Eventually, he places them back in to Remus' lap, and folds the blanket over them, and says neutrally, "it's been a while since you last did that."

Remus nods, rubbing a hand over his face. "I – I didn't mean to. I didn't even register it until it was too late."

"What made you do it?"

Remus blows out a long breath, and adjusts Winky's position. "I was just – I was just so _low_ and _angry_ at myself. I just – I – I –"

"Breathe, Moony," James says, tapping at Remus' chest, and he nods distractedly.

"- I just wanted to hurt," blurts Remus. "I wanted some kind of _proof –_ that – that all this-" he waves a hand around his head, "was _real._ "

"It _is_ real," James says immediately. "This shit is the realest thing you can feel."

Remus unfurls his fingers, and stares down at the angry red marks. "I – I do – I _know_ that. It just – I haven't felt like this in a while. And it scared me."

James is silent for a moment, and then says, "what else is going on in that brilliant brain of yours?"

"I've not been sleeping well," Remus says finally, not meeting James' unjudgmental gaze, because the compassion there will be _too much_. "My fibro's been… fucking awful lately. Pain all the fucking time. I can't get out of bed and everything is just _so_ much and I'm gaining weight like crazy and I feel like fucking shit all the fucking time."

"That was a lot of 'fucking's" says James lightly. "Keep going."

Remus takes a shallow breath. "I'm just – unhappy –" he gets out, and even those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Because what does he have to be unhappy about, really? He has the best, most supportive friends imaginable, and sure, he's in love with a man who is the actual definition of 'deserves the world,' but at least he gets to spend time with such a kind, funny and _brilliant_ person. He has two jobs that aren't completely awful and bosses who are understanding when he needs time off, and sure, both are dead-end jobs that leach the soul out of him the longer he stays there, but it's an income.

(He knows – he _does_ know this – that this isn't how depression works, that mental illness doesn't just take a holiday when life is treating you well, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with when it does happen).

"I don't _understand_ why this is happening. Nothing's changed. I'm not doing anything _differently._ It's not supposed to be – I'm so _tired._ " His voice shakes and then cracks, and he swipes furiously at his eyes because he has _no reason_ to cry about this, he's not even sad, he's just at the end of his fucking tether and he wants _out._

James makes a slightly pained noise, and Remus realises with a jolt that his mouth is running a commentary of every self-deprecating and self-loathing thought in his mind. James' arms have tightened around him, and Remus' cheeks are wet, and it's too much, it's all – too much, he can't, he can't he can't hecan't –

The panic attack hits hard and fast – the only warning is the slight prickling in his fingertips, and then it's like someone has sucked the very air from his lungs – he wants it to stop, he wants it _all_ to stop. He's vaguely aware of someone touching his shoulder, calling his name, holding his face, and he _screams,_ wasting the last mouthful of precious air,because _why won't it stop._ His head spins from the lack of oxygen and he can't breathe, but he welcomes the black dots in his vision, because perhaps that will make everything _stop._

( _Please G-d, let everything stop_ ).

* * *

It takes James a full hour to calm him down, he's told later. As it is, Remus finds himself facing a tense-looking James, whose usually tousled hair is in a state of utter disarray. It's hard to focus on any single detail – it all feels like _too much_ ; even the feeling of James' fingers on his bare skin sends prickles of anxiety down his spine, and he shakes the contact off roughly.

James retracts a little further from Remus, too slow to hide the hurt in his eyes, and Remus _could not feel guiltier if he tried_. "Sorry," he manages, the words are too big and too clumsy but it's all he can cope with right now – even that small effort feels Herculean.

"It's okay," James says immediately, "how are you feeling?"

"Tired," Remus mumbles, his eyes sliding shut.

There's a pause, and then James sighs, and it's an exhausted, sad sound that makes Remus' heart pang, because _defeat_ is not a word in the James Potter handbook, but that noise sounded a hell of a lot like it. "Can I ask some difficult and kind of shitty questions?" James says softly, and even though Remus knows what's coming – despite everything in him shouting the opposite – he nods.

James blows out a long breath. "Okay. Are you depressed?"

It's easier to be honest with his eyes closed, because at least then he doesn't have to meet James' concerned and caring eyes. He shuts off the reminders that he has _nothing_ to be depressed about, and nods again.

"Do you want to hurt yourself?"

Another nod.

Another pause.

"Do you want to die?"

And isn't that the question? Because Remus knows what it's like to actively want to die – to feel ready to make that happen – _to_ make that happen. He also knows what it's like to want to not exist – because the two aren't the same thing at all. There's a difference between the passivity of not caring what happens to you when you step in to the road, and stepping out in to busy traffic deliberately. Using past experiences as a measure of 'wellness' isn't perhaps the best option, given his track record, but he _thinks_ he's more the former of the two. Things aren't _all_ bad _all_ the time; there are pockets of happiness, when he can laugh and smile without feeling like he's just used up all his energy to do so. Messages from his friends still make his heart warm, and spending time with them – provided he's not in the mood where all he does is leech the _good_ from the room – is a sure-fire way to make him feel loved. But at the same time –

He thinks back to the nights where he's been to empty to even _cry_ about how utterly shit he feels. The mornings where he can't get out of bed for wanting to just _not_ exist. The afternoons where he should be cleaning and working and _living,_ but instead is just praying to G-d that He will make it stop. He doesn't pray often, he isn't even sure if he _believes_ in G-d, but he _does_ know that the interludes of contentment are not enough to outweigh the awful sinking feeling in his chest that everything would be better if he were just – dead.

(And doesn't that feel like the most selfish admission in the world?)

As much as James _does_ understand what it's like to be so low that ending everything feels like the only way out, James is the one who came to _them_ , trembling with nerves and wringing his hands. _James_ is the bravest person he knows – often to the point of reckless gallantry, but that means he does not – cannot – understand what it's like to be too afraid to admit what's happening to you.

He's been silent for too long – a mentally well person doesn't have to stop and think about that answer at all, which says everything that he's not able to.

"Can I hug you?" asks James, in a too-fragile, too-sad voice, and Remus aches to not be the one who caused it. Instead, all he can do his nod again, and a pair of arms wrap around him gently, tugging him against a warm, solid chest. James' lips press against his unwashed curls, and Remus feels his chest hitch at the tenderness in the motion. "It's going to be okay," James says just as gently. "You're not doing this alone. I've got you."

Remus remembers saying the same words when their roles were reversed, and a sob rises in his throat at the memories of nights with James curled over a toilet seat and tears dripping in to the bowl, the unexplained absences after mealtimes and the permanent stench of cleaning product that hovered in the bathroom, the stockpiling of Jammy Dodgers that would disappear overnight every couple of weeks. James was never – could never be – a burden to them, but something in him won't let him apply that same logic to himself, because the _last_ thing he _ever_ wants to be to his friends, is a burden.

Just as Remus had let James cry for as long as he had needed all those years ago, so too does James, and it's only when Remus is all-cried-out (tears drying blotchily on his flushed cheeks, snot smeared under his nose and glistening on his arms) that James speaks again, his tone resolute.

"You and I are going to the doctor's tomorrow morning first thing. This can't go on."

Whilst these are the words Remus has half been longing to hear, half been afraid of, he is nothing if not self-sabotaging, which makes him protest: "No – you have work, _I_ have work-"

"This is _a thousand times more important_ than work, Moony. I would choose _you_ over any commitment every fucking time. _When_ are you going to understand that?" He doesn't give Remus time to answer, probably because he _knows_ that Remus will give him some bullshit response about not deserving that kind of friendship, and instead ploughs on, "I can't _make_ you go. I just – I want you to care about yourself as much as you care about everyone else-"

"I'll go, I think – I want to go," Remus says, surprising even himself. James gapes at him for a second, and then swallows down the rest of his arguments.

"I – you – seriously?"

"I don't think I can do this by myself," Remus says, and the honesty hurts like pulling teeth with a string and a door knob, but it's the _truth._

"You're not going to be by yourself. I'll be with you the whole way, if you'll let me."

Remus swallows, and blinks back fresh tears, before nodding. James makes a pleased humming sound that Remus feels in James' chest as he pulls him in for another hug. "I'm so, so proud of you, Moonbeam," he whispers seriously.

(There's nothing to be proud of yet, he wants to say. I haven't done the hard part yet, don't be proud of me for _finally_ admitting I need help, _again_ ) –

"The hardest part was telling someone," James continues, and Remus almost flinches at how well James knows him. "And you told me. You reached out for help – you would never have done that five years ago, and you know it. Cut yourself some slack, there is no shame in this."

Remus nods – objectively, he knows this, it's something he's told his friends repeatedly after all, but in his current state it's not something he can process. "What now?" he asks instead.

James takes the change of subject in his stride. "I vote that first you shower, because I love you, but you smell, and then we order more food and watch some happy shit until one or both of us falls asleep."

Remus smiles in spite of himself. There are no words strong enough to describe how grateful he is to have a friend like James: unfathomably kind and strong, passionately protective of his loved ones, but also bluntly straightforward.

* * *

"Do you want me to invite the others over?" James suggests tentatively, once Remus emerges from the shower, feeling marginally less shit and a whole lot cleaner, and wearing something that isn't pyjamas for the first time in several days.

Remus shrugs, "maybe just Padfoot and Wormtail? If you think they'll want to."

"On it," says James, already tapping out a message to them both. "Don't be stupid, of course they'll want to." Before Remus has time to argue, James grins up at him. "What am I ordering?"

"Oh. I shouldn't," Remus says automatically, shoving a threadbare cushion in front of his stomach, as if he's only just become aware of it.

"Bull. Shit."

"Prongs-"

"Is this your fucking doctor again?"

Remus looks down awkwardly, hating the view that this gives him. "Don't you think it's better to listen to the 'fucking doctor' who actually knows what he's talking about?"

"Not if he's trying to fat-shame you, then no."

"He's not – it's not like that."

James looks both indignant and frustrated, but he lets it go (for now), apparently deciding that he should pick his battles tonight. "Well, I'm ordering Chinese, and there will be enough for four, should you change your mind."

Sirius and Peter arrive together minutes before the food. Peter is gentle as usual, pecking his cheek and folding him in to a warm hug, before pulling back and signing _I love you_ without breaking eye contact. Remus responds in kind, and Peter _beams_ the sunniest of smiles, before stepping aside to allow Sirius entry. Sirius holds his shoulders briefly and scans him in concern – Remus deliberately doesn't curl his hands to hide the mess he's made of his palms, and he sees the moment when Sirius catches it, but Sirius says nothing about it. Instead he hugs him fiercely, and murmurs, "I love you _so_ much, Moony. You're so fucking important to me."

Remus nods, the emotion in his throat too much to use actual words, and allows himself to be pulled in to a cuddle pile on the sofa, tucked in to Sirius' chest, his feet on James' lap, and Peter massaging his aching muscles one at a time. There's a brief but heated discussion about the movie choice, because some movies are frankly, shit, when you're Hard of Hearing, Peter tells them, and James vetoes anything Disney, because he is already inundated with it at school, but eventually they settle on _Matilda._ They're barely a third of the way through before the day's emotional rollercoaster catches up to Remus, and he feels his eyelids drooping shut. Sirius leans down and whispers, "sleep. We're here, I've got you," and it's like it was the permission he needed.

(He is still depressed, and self-loathing, and passively suicidal. But he has a support system that he could never have dreamed of years ago. He has the best friends in the world, who would bend over backwards to make him smile, he is warm and safe and fed, tomorrow he will start afresh with recovery, and most importantly: he doesn't have to do it alone).

* * *

 **A/N:**

\- Let's play a game called how many times can I make these chapters end in a cuddle pile, junk food and a movie?

\- Let's play a second game called how much can Rachel project her issues on to her fave characters before it becomes a therapy session?

\- Sirius isn't really in this one, though I'm not sorry because platonic and supportive friendships are just as important as romantic ones.

\- James is in recovery from bulimia, because men suffering from eating disorders doesn't get talked about nearly enough, and for men of colour it's even worse.

If y'all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter (littleoldrachel) to get in touch!

You are all deserving of love and support, no matter how much worse you think it could be, or how well you think you're coping. You're a fighter, but that doesn't mean you have to do it alone.

Love always & take care xoxo


	8. Take my seat

Tw for discussions around mental health, depression, anxiety, disordered eating, self harm and suicidal ideation.

These are based on a prompt by p0cketf0x.

* * *

 **"Take my seat."**

It's not a restful sleep; Sirius wakes up with a jolt of panic at least three times – a panic that buzzes fiercely in his chest until he sees all three of his friends safe and sound beside him. Remus' bed is not a double, because his tiny flat's tiny bedroom will not logistically allow it, which means that they are curled tightly around each other to avoid dangling off the edge. Each time Sirius wakes, his eyes dart first to Remus, sprawled in a different position, as though he's tossed and turned in a fitful sleep.

Remus has always been the exception to the cliché that people look young and untroubled in sleep – if anything, he appears older, because the premature crinkles around his eyes and across his forehead catch shadows, and slithers of light dance across his hair, giving the impression of silvery-grey strands. Sirius reaches out to brush Peter's hair out of Remus' mouth, and has to resist the urge to press his palm against Remus' cheek, to hold him and refuse to let go until he is sure that nothing else will try and hurt him.

 _How did you miss this?_ echoes through his mind for the thousandth time that night, and he has to breathe a little deeper a little longer each time, because what in the ever-loving _fuck_ was so important that he didn't see how much his best friend was struggling to keep afloat.

( _Nothing,_ his mind supplies, _there is no excuse for this, there is nothing more important_ ).

Sirius closes his eyes against the barrage of self-flagellation, only it's inside him, it's everywhere, and he can't seem to shut it out, and besides, he was a shit enough friend that he missed this so he deserves every scrap of punishment his mind can summon up –

His brain scrambles suddenly, and he backtracks – because therapy is finally making enough of a splash that he can recognise the emotional abuse that led to this line of thinking – and he forces himself to reassess. Yes, he missed out on the fact that Remus was suffering, and yes, he is allowed to feel guilty about that for as long as he needs to ( _it will never be enough_ ), because his feelings _matter_ , damn it.

But that doesn't mean he needs to punish himself. That doesn't mean he _deserves_ punishment.

The burst of pride he feels at such a simplistic statement is simultaneously irritating and heartfelt, because he hates that it's taken him twenty years to come to this conclusion… but at the same time, he's worked so damn _hard_ to get here, and he refuses to let his parents ruin yet another thing for him.

 _Why_ don't you deserve punishment? He hears the question rather than thinks it – and it's the soft and gentle tone of his therapist. He keeps his eyes closed as he begins to list his reasons, but the warm weight of his friends' sleeping bodies keeps him grounded, and he rests his hand lightly on Peter's shoulder as an extra anchor.

 _One,_ you've had a lot going on recently – with the job, moving house, dealing with your – stuff. It's understandable that you have been so focussed on yourself.

 _Two,_ Remus didn't _want_ to tell you – he didn't want to tell anyone. He's an adult and he can make his own decisions, and you have to respect that.

 _Three,_ you are here _now,_ when Remus needs you, and that is what matters most.

 _Four,_ you will do better in the future. You will support Remus through this, and you will not make it about you feeling guilty.

He usually stops at four in his sessions, because four is his lucky number and because any more than that is a struggle. But today there's another thought that floats up above all the rest, sucking every other reason up and swelling in size until it's the only one he can pay attention to.

 _Five, you don't deserve to suffer_.

It's like something shifts in to place in his mind – like a shaft in a mill turning to let sunshine beam through, or two puzzle pieces slotting together perfectly. It's nothing that hasn't been said to him by his friends, by teachers, by nurses and doctors, by the _world_ , but that's not the same as coming to a conclusion on your own. The perpetual weight in his chest lightens a fraction, and this time when the pride surges through him, he _lets_ it.

( _You don't deserve to suffer –_ not at the hands of someone else, nor by your own hands, you deserve compassion and respect like anybody else does. Just because life dealt you a shitty hand, just because you grew up believing you were worthless, just because you've been conditioned to expect punishment for your mistakes – none of it means that you deserve to suffer).

He knows that just because he's had this breakthrough now, it doesn't negate the years of abuse he was put through – the rest of it will not be plain sailing. He knows that there will still be things he cannot stop beating himself up over, his father will still hurl abuse at him inside his head, he will still fear conflict more than anything else. But after years of on-and-off therapy and self-love and relearning how to function – after the shitshow that his parents put him through months ago – he deserves to let himself feel proud.

It's the kind of thing he's itching to tell the others, because he knows that they will understand the significance of this and there are few things in the world as wonderful as James' proud, tear-filled eyes directed his way (except perhaps Remus' smile). He's half-way to waking James up, before he catches himself, and perspective comes crashing down around him like a burning building.

The bags under James' eyes, usually hidden behind his glasses, are trench-deep in his skin and bruised grey with exhaustion. He has to be up for work in an hour – because Remus will _not_ let him skip work for him – and he needs every single second of sleep he can muster. Peter, too, has been pulling _ridiculous_ hours what with fashion week just around the corner, his tiredness only visible in his half-formed signing and increased reliance on lip-reading. As for Remus – well, that isn't an option.

No, Sirius will keep this to himself until there's a better time – because there will be a better time. He tucks the warm glowing feeling away in his chest, where it glows softly against the darkness of his demons, and slides out of bed as gently as possible.

Sirius drags the holey blanket from the sofa in the living area, and wraps it around himself like a cloak; even in summer, Remus' apartment is fucking freezing because he can't afford to have the heating on. Winky is just yawning and stretching herself out as he makes himself a cup of coffee, and he sets her food down, before beginning to scan Remus' cupboards for something he can make breakfast from.

There are not a lot of options – the bread has become a breeding ground, the milk is sour, there's an almost empty packet of pasta and an unopened pouch of rice. Sirius has gotten used to James and Lily's cupboards, which are always fully stocked with foods from all over the world and exciting spices. The sight of Remus' sad, bare kitchen makes his chest hurt a little, but it's not unexpected.

Instead, he decides to nip to the nearest café for some breakfast, using the walk there to make a list on his phone of everything that needs stocking up. It's early; the sun is only just inching up in to the sky, the birds are barely beginning their chorus, and there are very few people about, but Sirius kind of loves the peace. As much as he loves London, his anxiety does not, and the constant hustle and bustle, pushing and shoving, and general _business_ of the capital gives him the kind of anxious knot in his stomach that only a quiet, calm morning can relieve.

By the time he's leaving the café, a parcel full of pastries in his hands, it's almost time for the others to be getting up for work. He lets himself in to the flat, noting with a frown that the lock is _still_ broken, and, upon hearing movement from Remus' bedroom, hurries to make tea and coffee for them all. He busies himself arranging the pastries in an aesthetically pleasing way and is distracted enough that Remus is only a few steps away when Sirius finally notices him.

He still looks exhausted and sad and stressed, and Sirius' heart still aches to see him like this, but as Sirius wraps him in a good morning cuddle, he presses his face in to Sirius' shoulder, and mumbles fondly, "good morning, love."

Sirius' heart jumps joyfully, both at the term of endearment and at the warmth in his tone. "Morning," he returns, "how did you sleep?"

"Better," Remus says as he steps away. He goes to a drawer and pulls out his medication, swallowing them dry, then bends down to scratch Winky's ears. "How about you?"

"I always sleep better with you," Sirius says without thinking, and there's a pause before he realises what he's said. It's not even strictly true, given last night's fitful sleep, but Remus is staring at him with a kind of grateful awe, and it's so beautiful that Sirius forgets that he was about to backtrack everything, and just stares back at Remus.

"Padfoot, you are an _angel,_ " Peter says loudly as he walks in, and makes a beeline for the coffeepot. He looks unfairly good for someone who has shared a single bed with three other grown men – his skin is glowing from the shower and he's smiling brightly. Meanwhile, Sirius feels like a bedraggled hobgoblin with his hair a messy bush and his eyes blurry with exhaustion.

But he appreciates that Peter is focusing on the normalcy of the situation, and so he tries to match that energy. "I know," he says, grinning, "can I interest you in pastries?" He's barely finished signing before Peter has two pastries in his hands, and child-like delight in his eyes.

"I fucking _love_ you," he says through a mouthful of baked goods, and Sirius can't help but laugh.

"I love you too," he says, biting in to his own pastry, and accepting the inevitable explosion of pastry flakes on his chin.

"And _I_ love _you_ all," says James in a sing-song voice as he enters. He's still half-dressed, his shirt buttons are misaligned and he's only wearing one sock, but he's his usual smiling self, in spite of the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He wraps an arm around Remus' waist, and asks him, "have you eaten?"

"Have you?" Remus retorts, sounding more like his usual self, but he still grudgingly accepts a cinnamon swirl.

James shoots him a tight-lipped smile in response, reaching instead for a cup of tea, and Sirius can't help the pang of worry that adds to the shackles around his chest. He catches Remus' equally-concerned eyes for a second – and it feels almost like the old days, where they were united against James' demons, but then James clears his throat, and the moment has passed.

"So. The plan for today." He takes a gulp of tea, and says, "we need to get to a doctor's."

" _We_ don't need to do anything," says Remus in such an even manner that Sirius can tell he's practiced this, "I'm more than capable of taking myself to a doctor's, and you have to go to work. As do _you,_ " he turns to Peter just as he's opening his mouth, and Peter closes it again, looking sheepish.

"Like I said last night," James says, and though his tone is calm, Sirius can hear the strain of worried frustration beneath the surface. "I can take a day. This is more important."

Remus sighs, and absent-mindedly takes a muffin from the platter. "I beg to differ," he says quietly. Sirius' heart sears with a sudden sad ache, and before he can stop himself, he steps forward to wrap an arm around Remus – as though he can pour his love and care in to Remus through touch alone. To his relief, Remus leans in to him a little, and he tightens his grip further.

"Please let me come with you." Sirius says, his voice is soft but in the quiet early morning stillness, all of them can hear every word. Remus frowns, and makes to pull away, but Sirius holds tight. "I have zero commitments today, and it's a shit thing to have to do alone." What he doesn't add, is the thought that he knows is coursing through James' and Peter's minds too: _I'm scared you won't make a big enough deal out of this if you go alone. I'm scared you'll downplay it and things will get so much worse._

There's a long pause, in which Remus stares at the floor, folding and unfolding his muffin wrapper. Sirius can't see his undoubtedly tumultuous eyes, but he watches the motion of Remus' fingers obsessively. He doesn't need to look to know that Peter and James are the same.

"Okay," Remus says, even more quietly, and Sirius feels something in his chest _give_ , like a ceiling buckling under pressure. Tears prick the corners of his eyes unexpectedly, and he is _so_ fucking _grateful_ that for once in his life, Remus is letting himself be helped, so _proud_ that Remus is letting them in, so _overwhelmed_ that he wraps himself fully around Remus, and mumbles "thank you, thank you," in his ear. A warm, pillowy weight against his back tells him that Peter is joining the cuddle fest, and James' long arms stretch over them all seconds later. It's Sirius' all-time favourite place to be – tucked amongst his friends, in a circle of affection and support – and it gives him the kind of warmth in his heart that fills him to the brim and overflows in to a giddily happy smile.

Even the jarring sound of James' ringtone that cuts through the peace minutes later cannot pierce him. James answers the call with a "hey _bhanvaraa_ , how are you?" before he makes a hasty but apologetic departure, and Peter follows close behind. Both make Sirius and Remus swear to keep them updated before they leave, and Remus manages to force a pastry in to James' hands with a pleading expression, which further uncoils Sirius' anxiety.

Within a half hour, the two of them are rocking with the motions of the train that will carry them to the surgery. It's crammed with the morning rush, and the crowdedness necessitates their close proximity. They stand in a comfortable silence (or as comfortable as Sirius ever feels in a crowd), and he watches Remus' anxious hand-twisting and lip-biting with a sad kind of resignation. When his nails move to the soft flesh of his forearms and begin a harsh, scraping motion, however, he reaches out and snags Remus' hands in his own. Their fingers intertwine automatically, and Remus leans his head in to Sirius' shoulder. They look like a couple (and a damned cute one too, if you ask Sirius), and the thought momentarily makes Sirius' heart leap with a delighted joy, before he remembers their current situation, and that the last thing Remus needs is a boyfriend right now.

When they step off the train, the crowd carries them down the platform and in to the streets, and they join the stream of people headed to the surgery. It's already bustling with patients, and the sight of the lengthy queue makes Sirius' chest tight with panic, because _what if they can't get an appointment?_ Every inch they shuffle forward reduces the likelihood of seeing someone today, and _they need to see someone today._ He can feel himself getting worked up but is powerless to stop it – he can't vocalise it to Remus because, well, this is _for_ Remus, and it's an enormous relief when they finally reach the front of the queue.

"Sirius," Remus says suddenly, and Sirius starts in surprise, because up until now, Remus has been stoically silent. "Sirius, I can't – can you do the talking?"

"Of course," he says at once, because he would do _anything_ to ease the anxious clenching of Remus' jaw. He recognises that Remus _must_ be anxious to ask such a thing of him – Remus knows that requesting assistance from others makes Sirius anxious to the point of stuttering and shaking – and the gravity of the situation weighs even heavier on his shoulders.

The receptionist is a young, smiling redhead, though her smile doesn't extend past her lips. "How can I help you today?"

"We need an appointment as soon as possible," Sirius says, leaning on the counter to hide the anxious tapping of his fingers.

"The earliest I can get you in for is…." She sighs, hits a few keys, and continues, "a week on Tuesday."

Sirius feels his hackles rise, and he has to take a deep breath before he can trust himself not to snap at her. The words are still a great deal harsher than he would like, but at least it gets his point across. "No. A week is way too long."

Remus tugs on Sirius' sleeve. "A week is fine, Padfoot," he says in a low voice, and Sirius shakes him off.

"No, it's not fine," he insists.

"Is it an emergency?" The receptionist asks, and though her voice is trained to be kind, her eyes are sweeping a judgement up and down Remus' body, and Sirius _bristles_. He would never be able to do this for himself, but he'll be _damned_ before he lets Remus be brushed aside like this doesn't matter, because it _fucking matters_.

"Yes," he says firmly, and Remus starts beside him.

" _Sirius_ -" he begins.

"It's an emergency," Sirius affirms, and the woman casts another curious eye over Remus.

"What _kind_ of emergency?" she asks, all pretence at pleasantry gone, and Sirius feels the anger rise up inside him like a volcano ready to blow, because _how dare she_?

His next words are tight with fiercely-controlled ire. "You have no right to ask that."

Remus puts a hand on Sirius wrist, and loosely wraps his fingers around it. The coolness of his palm draws Sirius' attention to how tightly he's clenching the counter, and he withdraws his grip with aching digits. "It's a mental health crisis," Remus says to the receptionist, and Sirius _hates_ the defeat in his voice, _hates_ the tired acceptance that mental health patients are treated like _shit_ by neurotypicals too nosy and entitled to know better.

The receptionist has gone very quiet, looking Remus up and down once more. This time there's a little more softness in her gaze, and the pity she's emanating makes Sirius' blood boil. "Very well," she says at last, and passes him a scarlet form. "Complete this, bring it back, and we'll call you when there's a spot."

Sirius snatches it from her before she can say anything else problematic, and drags Remus back to the waiting area, where he scribbles Remus' information in the boxes. It occurs to him that there are few people in the world who would be able to do this for him without asking for clarification, but _he_ is one of those people. The thought makes his heart ache, but he forces himself back to the present – back to where his best friend is having a mental health crisis, and he could have fucking _missed_ it.

Once the paperwork is completed, there's an indeterminate waiting period, and the two of them slump in to the lumpy armchairs with resignation. After thirty minutes, the anxiety fades a little, to be replaced by a mounting boredom. Eventually Sirius swings himself up, "I'm going to get supplies. Do you want anything?" He's unsurprised when Remus shakes his head, but buys him a hot chocolate and muffin anyway, along with a coffee for himself. Once he's returned, the boredom sets in once more, and he has to bite his cheeks to stop himself from doing an Annoying Talking Donkey and smacking his lips every five seconds.

"I spy with my little eye… something beginning with 'f'?" he says hopefully, leaning against Remus, who rolls his eyes, but plays along.

"Floor?"

"Nope," Sirius sits up a little straighter.

"Flu?" Remus says, nodding his head at a small sickly child with snot dribbling from its nose.

"Nope, but nice one."

"Friend?" Remus pokes his knee, and Sirius' heart scrunches happily at the sentiment.

Sirius shakes his head but captures Remus' hand in his and squeezes.

Remus sighs, "flowers?"

"Nah."

Remus leans against Sirius, casting his gaze around the room. Sirius watches his face intently, because he always loves the moment Remus _gets_ it, like a lamp lighting up, and Remus says triumphantly, "fire exit."

Sirius makes a _ding-ding-ding_ noise, and the next twenty minutes is an increasingly competitive game of i-spy, with their objects becoming more and more obscure. Briefly, things are _normal_ , and Sirius can pretend that they're just two mentally-stable, happy friends chilling together. They finally call it a draw when Remus stumps Sirius with _something beginning with 'b'_ and the silence between them settles once more.

They play on their phones for an hour or so, and Sirius is going out of his mind. The vibration in his pocket is a welcome distraction from – _nothing –_ but a text from James' father makes him groan a little too loud for a doctor's waiting room, and several heads spin to stare at him.

 **Papa Prongs:** Morning, _mere laal_! Wedding update: we need to add another 14 seats to the ceremony – Prongs' third cousins have announced they are gracing us with their presence! Joy! Love you, _Baabaa_ xxx

Sirius tucks the phone back in his shirt pocket, along with the warmth the term of endearment brings. "What's wrong?" Remus asks, tipping his head on to Sirius' shoulder, and Sirius immediately tucks an arm around Remus' shoulders to draw him closer.

"Ugh, Potter family drama - just wedding stuff," Sirius says, and Remus frowns.

"Why, what needs doing?" He doesn't make eye contact, but the fact that he's engaging at all is a plus in Sirius' books.

"What _doesn't_ need doing?" Sirius says dramatically, slumping against Remus with a theatrical sigh. He's exaggerating, but the stress he's feeling is real. When James and Lily had first announced that they were doing a 'wedding mash-up' between their cultures ("but Lily, white people don't _have_ culture, they just steal everyone else's **,** " Alice had teased), Sirius had fallen in love with the idea, hard. The idea of _two_ ceremonies – _two_ opportunities to celebrate two of the best people he knows – had sounded like a dream; had he known how _complicated_ it was all going to be, he might have tried to talk James out of it.

James' parents are largely taking care of the Indian side of the ceremony – thank God, because Sirius may have been essentially adopted in to a Hindu family, but that didn't mean he felt qualified to make those kind of arrangements – and Lily's family are handling the Catholic side, but he still has to make them _mesh._ He still has to organise James' stag night, sort out the whole _rings_ aspect, ensure everybody feels comfortable in their outfits – and a million and one other things, the most overwhelming of which is the best man's speech.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Remus asks, dragging Sirius out of his spiral of panic.

Sirius stares at him, wondering how anyone can be so selfless. "No, love, you – you focus on _you,_ please."

"I hate seeing you stressed," Remus mumbles, his frown lines deepening.

"You must hate seeing me then," Sirius chuckles – he's (half) joking, but Remus looks genuinely distressed by the idea.

" _Never_. You're the highlight of my day. Always," Remus says forcefully, and Sirius is momentarily _floored_ by Remus and his loveliness. The sentiment wraps a golden warmth around his heart, and nestles in his ribcage, where it melts away at the cold anxiety hiding there.

He's saved from responding by a nurse calling Remus' name, and Remus gets to his feet unsteadily, his nerves making his hands tremble at his sides. Sirius leaps to his feet too, grabbing Remus' wrist before he can move away.

"Do you want me to come too?"

Remus bites his lip, and then shakes his head. "Thank you. But I think I need to do this myself."

"Are you sure?" As much as he doesn't want to _push_ , he's terrified that Remus is going to understate the situation – that the doctor will just let him walk out of the office without any kind of support in place, at least if he's _in there_ , he will be able to _make sure_ –

"No, I – it's easier to be honest if you're not there too," Remus admits, ducking his head, and Sirius' breath catches in his throat at how _much_ Remus is trying to protect him from himself and he wishes he wouldn't, but he knows he has to respect Remus' wishes.

"I'm _so_ proud of you," Sirius whispers instead of protesting, pressing his forehead against Remus', and Remus closes his eyes against the praise. Sirius presses a quick kiss to Remus' cheek, admiring the pink that blossoms there afterwards. "I love you. You can do it."

"Love _you,_ " Remus returns.

Watching Remus follow the nurse out of the waiting room shouldn't feel like he's sending him in to a war zone. It shouldn't plunge his stomach in to an icy grip or tauten the bands around his chest even tighter. The anxiety bubbles and simmers in his stomach as he sits back down, and his fingers tingle ominously – he can't wait here like this.

Desperate for something to do with his hands, he pulls out his phone for the colour-by-numbers app that makes everything in his head a little less _loud_ , but –

His lock screen is a photo taken by Marlene at Diwali; he and Remus are stood close together, with Remus' head resting on Sirius' shoulder, their faces tilted upwards and lit by golden fireworks. Again, he's struck by how much the two of them look like a couple – even their arms are entwined, and Sirius has this embarrassingly sappy gleam in his eyes – he can't believe it took him so long to realise he was in love with Remus.

He shakes himself out of it when he realises he's brushing a finger over the dimple in Remus' cheek, opens up an app **,** and forces himself to breathe as he fills tiny squares with colour. The petals of the lotus flower he's shading are only half-done before he gives up, because it's not _working._

Remus has been in the doctor's room for almost twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of wasted worry-time. ( _Stop wasting time, you useless shit_ ).

He could use this time for wedding planning – lord knows there's enough to be keeping him busy, what with catering and clothes and centrepieces to consider. (Lily had sent him a list of floral arrangements yesterday morning with a _HELP!_ attached to the email that he's yet to reply to). Or he could get some work done for the next issue of the magazine of which _he's_ supposed to be designing a two-fold spread (the enormity of this responsibility is not lost on him, and he's _grateful_ and _overwhelmed_ and _so_ very lucky, but, in true procrastinator style, he knows he will not begin designs until at least next week). Or he could compose a reply to his brother's Facebook message, which he'd finally plucked up the courage to open three nights ago, only several months after it was sent.

(The message is just as stiff and formal as his brother has always been, but it's not unpleasant. In fact, the formality stirs some kind of comfortable familiarity in his chest, recalling childhood days of playing knights and cowboys and soldiers together in the sunshine).

 _(Regulus: Dear Sirius. I would like to apologise that I have not contacted you sooner. I was uncertain that you would welcome my contact, and I feared that even if I found you, I would not receive a response. I am sorry for everything that was said to you, and the way that you were treated, not just in June, but your whole life. Our parents have not been fair to you. I have not been fair to you. I am endeavouring to change, though you have no reason to believe me, and I understand fully if you do not. I have no right to ask your forgiveness, but I hope that one day, you may find it in your heart to allow me back in to your life. I hope you are well, my dear brother. I have not informed anyone that I have contacted you. Please take care of yourself. Your brother, Regulus)._

(He can't explain how the message makes him feel – there's a hurt anger at the memories of the life he used to live and the abuse he faced for so long, there's a longing ache for the man he once considered his fiercest ally, and a sharp grief at the way their relationship now lies in tatters. And of course, as there always is, the anxiety that it's a trick, that his parents are using Regulus to get to him, that if he messages back it will only end in disappointment and heartbreak once more…)

(He hasn't replied yet and doesn't know when he will feel able to. He's trying to be okay with that).

The point is – he can't _fucking function_ whilst the love of his life is struggling with something so huge and so horrible, and insisting on doing it _alone_ – is love supposed to be _this_ stressful?

"Hey," a soft voice accompanies a gentle touch on his arm, and Sirius jumps violently as Remus plops down next to him. "You alright?"

"Better now that you're here," Sirius says, eyes snapping to the green prescription form, the yellow follow-up appointment card, and the pink referral forms all clamped in Remus' grip. He's not lying, the anxiety recedes even just at the sight of him **,** even though he looks so exhausted that a gust of wind might knock him down. "How was it?"

Remus hesitates, and Sirius catches the way his lashes are clinging together, the pinkness of his sclera, and the way he's almost bitten _through_ his lip from chewing on it so hard. "Can we go somewhere else?" he says eventually. "And just _talk_?"

"I'd like that."

* * *

They fill Remus' prescription, then end up at Fortescue's, because they're nothing if not creatures of habit, and Sirius orders them both chocolatey monstrosities.

"You need to stop feeding me sugary shit," Remus says with a wry smile, and it's a weak attempt at humour, but it's an attempt nonetheless.

"Never. That would violate clause twelve of our Best Friend Contract." Sirius reaches across and bops his nose lightly with a teaspoon. The dimpled smile he gets back gives him a happy glow in his chest that counters the cold of the ice cream. "So. Let's talk?"

Remus plays for time, scooping his spoon through all three flavours of ice-cream and letting them melt in his mouth. He swirls his flake around the blob of cream, smearing it across the bowl, and then looks up at Sirius. "I don't know where to start."

Sirius bites his lip, because there are a million questions that he's trying to contain, but he knows Remus needs to do this at his own pace. They eat in a tense silence, until Remus finally clears his throat.

"It's been - I've been deteriorating for months," he admits, his eyes still on his bowl. "Every time my fibro flared up, it all got a little bit worse, but I didn't - I couldn't -" Remus fist clenches around his spoon, and Sirius instantly wraps both his hands around it, forcing his grip looser so that the metal stops biting in to Remus' skin. Remus takes a breath and continues. "And it just never got better again. It's not that I was _trying_ to hide it from you all. It's just - so much _easier_ to hide it? And I didn't even realise myself how bad things were getting until I caught myself stockpiling meds and skipping work, and then it was just so _much_ to do anything about it? And even though I _know_ it's not true, it would have felt like I was burdening you all and I just - I'm _tired_ of being a burden."

Sirius and Remus have discussed mental health before - over the years of their friendship and considering their respective mental illnesses, it's a topic that has arisen frequently. But, Sirius realises with a jolt, how many of those conversations have focused on _his_ mental health, how little Remus really talks about his own struggles. In fact, the last _real_ talk they'd had about it must have been a few years ago, when Remus had been dealing with a patch of extremely severe anxiety and was unable to leave the house. Remus just _doesn't_ rely on people, except occasionally James, which is something that Sirius, as an extrovert who _needs_ people like he needs oxygen, has always found difficult to comprehend.

He licks his lips nervously, "you're never a –"

"I _know,_ " Remus says quickly, trying to smile reassuringly but it fades too fast. "I'm just tired of being the one who always needs help."

Sirius wants to deny the statement – because more than anything, it's not true; Sirius himself needs help on a daily basis to remember that people actually _like_ him, James still screws up his meal plans, almost all of them have mental health issues to some degree which mean that they need to lean on each other more often than not. But he also doesn't know how to negate it without implying that needing help is a bad thing because _it's not_. Needing help and being able to ask for it is the mark of a truly strong person, and Remus is the strongest person he knows.

He tries a different approach, because he knows how uneasy it makes Remus to be described as 'strong.' "If it were any of _us_ , if it were _me,_ you wouldn't think like that."

There's a pause, in which Remus stares at his hands, with the conflict evident on his face. "I know," he says at last, "but you know my brain can't wrap itself around that."

 _I know,_ Sirius screams internally, _I know, and I hate it, and if there were just one thing I could change about you, if I could do just_ one _thing to lighten your load, it would be the acceptance that you deserve the same love you give to everyone else._ He doesn't say any of it though, because they've had this argument countless times before, and because it won't do any good – he may love Remus with everything he has, but he is no therapist.

"It doesn't matter why you didn't tell us then," Sirius says instead, squeezing Remus' hands. "But I'm so sorry that you didn't feel able to –"

"It's not your fault," Remus says immediately, looking painfully earnest and Sirius _aches_ for his goodness and his heart.

"What _matters_ is that whatever it told you about being a burden, or not deserving support," Sirius reaches up and gently flicks the side of Remus' head, but the gesture loses its intended playfulness in the tenderness of his motion. "Whatever it told you, it was _wrong,_ and we love you _so_ much, and I – I'm so, so fucking sorry." His voice goes horribly wobbly, and he has to _fight_ to regain control, because he is _not_ making this about him, goddammit. Remus catches the slip though, and Sirius can _see_ the guilt piling on to his shoulders as he ducks his head. He yanks Remus' hands closer to him, and says, "it's not _your_ fault. We can be better. We can _do_ better." He leans across the table and presses his forehead against Remus', the latter closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

When he opens his eyes again, Sirius is startled to realise that they're overly bright – he can see the droplets trembling on his lashes. "I don't know how I got so lucky with you – you all," Remus manages, swiping at his eyes. "I never imagined – I don't –"

" _We_ are the lucky ones," Sirius says, and his own eyes begin to burn a little at the ducts, like they always do when he sees someone else crying. (He _feels_ things, okay?) There's a comfortable silence between them, in which they collect themselves and keep holding hands like it's a normal, platonic thing that two grown men do. He can tell that Remus is building himself up to say something _big,_ and he forces himself to be patient, half-dreading what he's going to hear.

"It just feels so fucking shit to be back here again. Like, I worked so hard to get out, and the second I take a breather, I'm falling back down this deep dark hole and I'm _so tired of fighting it._ I don't know that I have the energy to climb out again."

The words strike an icy fear in to Sirius' chest, but he refuses to let it show on his face, refuses to even consider for a second the possibility of a world without Remus in it. "But you _will_ ," he insists. "Because you don't have to do it on your own – we won't let you do it on your own."

Remus smiles a little sadly. "I think there are some things that only I can fight, Padfoot."

"Yes, but it's okay to lean on other people too," Sirius returns, "it's yours to fight, but we're here for you – let us help you. Please."

Remus takes a deep breath, and another, and withdraws his hands to press the heels in to his eyes. When he drags them down his face tiredly, Sirius can see the exhaustion in every single line, but there's also something in Remus' eyes that is fierce and brave and beautiful, something that tells Sirius that he's not _done_ yet. Relief blooms around his heart as Remus gives a tiny nod, and the sensation is so strong, he could weep with it.

Their ice creams are almost entirely melted – lumps of chocolate floating in a pale pool of mixed cream, ice cream and sauce. Sirius despises melted ice cream and the way it feels in his mouth, so his dish is a lost cause. Remus, however, begins hoovering up the remainder of his bowl, and Sirius lets the silence drag out, giving them both a chance to just _breathe._

But eventually, Sirius asks "so, where do we go from here?" and Remus crinkles his nose.

"A fuckton of therapy," he says, "some new medication. Sleeping pills. The usual crisis stuff – you know how it is."

"When does the therapy start?"

"Tomorrow."

Sirius blinks in surprise that _for once_ , the health services are doing something in a timely and appropriate manner – but thank God, because if there was ever time, it was now. "That's really positive," he says, and Remus nods but says nothing, focussing on his ice cream. "What can I do to help?"

Remus gives him a small smile (it's a fraction of the bright beam Sirius knows and loves so well, but even this tiny movement makes his heart fluttery and warm). "Just being there – it means a lot. That you haven't given up."

"Never," Sirius says fiercely, and Remus' smile widens infinitesimally. Sirius hesitates, then reaches out and gently twists Remus' palm face-up, so that the crusty red marks are stark against his skin. "And this?"

"This is the worst of it," Remus says immediately, and he presses his hands over where Sirius knows scars litter his arms, as he always does when this topic comes up. "I haven't - done anything else."

It wouldn't be the first time that Remus has lied to him about self-harm, but there's something in his eyes that makes Sirius believe him - a vulnerable kind of naked honesty to this entire conversation that Remus usually avoids like the plague. "Would you tell me if you felt like you had to?" Sirius asks.

Remus cocks his head, and slowly nods. "I think so, yeah. You or Prongs. Can I finish your ice cream?" The change of topic is bewilderingly fast, but as Sirius hands him his bowl, he is grateful that the conversation lasted as long as it did. Remus has the unfortunate habit of shutting down when it comes to his mental health, so in truth, this entire conversation has been an anomaly.

Sirius steers them towards new topics as Remus polishes off his ice cream too, chattering aimlessly about his new project at work, about James and Lily's upcoming wedding, about Regulus' message – though he skims over the details of this one, and Remus doesn't press him. After a couple of hours in the café and the heaviness of the conversation, Sirius feels drained himself, so he can only imagine how shattered Remus must feel.

They leave around early evening, and Remus leans in to his side, his footsteps dragging. The train rattles Sirius' bones as it sweeps the familiar course home. It's the kind of busy where the two of them struck gold in finding seats opposite each other; every perch is occupied and there is only standing room left.

Between the legs of strangers and the bags that swing to and fro with the train's motions, Sirius keeps a watchful gaze upon Remus, who's hunched between two women, his eyes vacant and his hands twisting anxiously. Sirius knows Remus – knows he will always press his thighs as close together as possible, knows he tucks his arms in front of him and sucks in his stomach, knows he's self-conscious about the amount of space he takes up, but even so; the sight of Remus so physically uncomfortable with himself never fails to make his heart pang.

The train pulls in to another stop, and the crowds shift and clear, before quickly clogging up once more. An older woman shuffles their way, and stands pointedly in front of Remus, who is so spaced out that he barely registers her presence until she coughs loudly.

Then he jerks up, out of his seat, wincing as he does so, and apologetically gestures for her to take it, which she does, without so much as a thank you. Sirius bites his tongue so hard on the points he wants to make that disability isn't always visible, stereotypes are trash, and _that was so fucking rude, you cow_ , that he tastes the coppery tang of blood, but he knows that's not what Remus needs right now.

Instead, he swings himself up, grabs Remus' wrist, and murmurs, "take my seat" in his ear. Remus shakes his head, looking tired, and starts to say something dumb and self-sacrificing, but Sirius cuts him off.

"I mean it. You're in pain, you've had a frankly shit day, let me do this for you."

"You've done so much already," Remus says quietly, but allows himself to be manhandled in to Sirius' empty seat. Sirius shoots a vicious smile at the woman who has now settled herself comfortably in to Remus' former place, and a concerned one at Remus who's tilting his head back against the glass, his eyes closing in exhaustion.

When the train finally jerks in to their stop, Sirius has to gently shake Remus awake, heart swelling at the way Remus blinks drowsily up at him. Thankfully, it's a short walk back to Remus' apartment, and Remus immediately stumbles towards his bedroom, narrowly avoiding tripping over Winky by Sirius scooping her up last minute. Sirius potters around the kitchen for a while, feeding Winky and making tea – he appreciatively notes that James has restocked Remus' cupboards, and that Peter has placed a dish in the fridge with a heart baked in to the crust of the pie. Before he heads to Remus' bedroom, he drops a few messages in the group chat –

 **Sirius:** _just got home_

 **Sirius:** _the doc's changing his meds again & gave him sleeping stuff_

 **Sirius** : _he has another appointment next week and emergency counselling this week with the crisis team_

(– and types out one to James, before hastily deleting it:

 **Sirius** _: we had a long long talk and i hate this, i hate seeing him like this [crying face emoji]_ )

He pokes his head in the door of Remus' room as responses ping through and settles himself on the end of Remus' bed. Remus cracks an eye open and smiles tiredly at him from where he's curled under the covers, making grabby hands at the mug in Sirius' hands. Sirius chuckles as he hands it over, and then even more as Remus makes grabby hands at _him._ He tucks himself in to the spot next to Remus, and Remus immediately coils himself around Sirius, closing his eyes and sighing a little. Sirius presses a kiss to the top of Remus' hair, and pulls him closer, his chest feeling almost painfully warm and full. His phone buzzes again, and he extracts an arm from the cuddle to check it, much to Remus' disgust as he makes a little growling sound.

 **Alice:** الحمد الله _[praising hands emoji]_

 **Wormtail:** _ty for letting us kno_

 **Prongs:** _give him our love [sparkling heart emoji]_

 **Frank:** _seconded ^_

"Prongs sends his love on behalf of everyone," Sirius murmurs, and Remus makes a vague humming sound, before his eyes snap open urgently.

"Is he okay? Has he eaten today?"

"Let me check," Sirius says, already berating himself for not having thought of it.

 **Sirius:** _Prongs pls tell me you've eaten today_

 **Prongs:** _I'm fine, dw about me_

 **Sirius:** _no i mean it, moony is so worried abt you and the last thing he needs is to be stressed over you on top of everything else, so if you can't do it for you, pls try for him_

 **Prongs:** _[a photo of him with an almost empty plate of dhaal, giving a thumbs up]_

 **Lily:** _Padfoot I love you but lay off my fiancé, Remus isn't the only one having a shit time_

 **Prongs:** _it's fine Lils, he's right_

 **Lily:** _[gif of Roz from Monsters Inc saying "I'm always watching, Wazowski, always watching"]_

 **Sirius** _ **:**_ _i'm sorry Prongs, that was shitty of me_

 **Prongs:** _love you, Pads [sparkling heart emoji]_

The guilt is like a rock in his stomach because he _didn't fucking think_ before he typed, and sure, James _says_ it's fine, but it's _not,_ and that's yet another mess for him to feel terrible about, and –

"Padfoot? Is he okay?" Remus is clearly clinging to the edge of consciousness, and the tiny yawn he lets out sets Sirius off too (because now that he thinks about it, he's fucking drained too).

"Lily's looking after him," he says, and as though it's the permission Remus has been waiting for, he finally drifts off in his arms. Sirius feels Remus' muscles unclenching as the tension seeps out of him, and his heart feels unbearably fond. There will be time to apologise tomorrow, he decides. Time to figure out the next steps for both Remus and James. Right now, what he need is sleep. And so, for once in his life, he refuses to let himself wallow in a guilty self-loathing and allows sleep to claim him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

i wanna make it crystal clear that i love the nhs, it has saved my life and i am so so grateful to it. however i am also on a waiting list for counselling and have been for nine months, and will be for another eight. my issues with the health services are with the lack of funding it receives from the government, not the services themselves.

If y'all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here to get in touch!

Y'all are so so so kind, I'm so grateful for your wonderful feedback!

Love always & take care xoxo


	9. I saved a piece for you

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for mentions of depression, anxiety, self-hate, self-harm, difficult family relationships.

* * *

 **"I saved a piece for you."**

"I want you to say the first word that comes to mind if I ask you to describe each of the important people in your life… don't think about it, I just want you to say whatever appears first, alright?" At Remus' nod, she continues, "Alice."

"Kind."

"Marlene."

"Strong."

"James."

"Brave."

"Peter."

"Lovely."

"Lily."

"Brilliant."

"Sirius."

"Love." The word spills from Remus' lips before he can contain it, and he swallows hard. Dilys doesn't react, save a slightly curve of her lips.

"Remus."

"Insignificant."

Dilys sits back in her chair and gives him a _look_ – the kind of look that Remus has only ever received from therapists, where it's sort of unreadable and momentous all at once. "Is that really the first word that springs to mind, Remus?"

Remus shifts uncomfortably on his seat, cringing at the way the material of his jacket squeaks against it. He shrugs, but then, under Dilys' continued stare, nods once.

"So, you have all these positive words to describe your friends – compassion, courage, romance – but you label yourself as not important?"

Remus shrugs again. " _Less_ important, I guess."

"Why?"

For what feels like the umpteenth time, Remus shrugs. Dilys rolls her eyes, "come now, Remus, you can do better than that."

He represses a heavy sigh, and slowly tries to piece together a response that isn't dripping in self-loathing. (Spoiler: he fails). "My friends are – the best people I've ever met. They are all… so _good_ , and kind and bright, and they've got all these _achievements_ and _careers_ and _families._ " He pauses and licks his lips, staring at the dry, cracked skin of his knuckles. "They deserve _so_ much. And I – I can't give them that. I'm just _me_." His voice wobbles a little, and he clamps his jaw tightly shut, horrified at how quickly a lump has risen in his throat.

"Are you not good and kind?" Dilys asks gently. "Aren't you the man who has been bending over backwards for months to try and help his best friend settle in to his new life? Aren't you the man who took in a kitten because said best friend wanted you to? Who is so worried about another friend that you talked about him for ten minutes today before you would even consider talking about yourself?"

"Those things aren't _kind_ , though" Remus tries to explain. "Those are just – friendship things."

"That doesn't mean they're not kind. You gave up time at work, time and money you urgently needed, for Sirius. You took in a kitten you can't afford, for him. You put James before yourself every single time. I could go on, Remus, because there are so many examples of ways that you have shown your friends more care than you would _ever_ show yourself."

Remus ducks his head and digs his nails in to his palm a little.

"As for strong, Remus, for goodness sake, you have depression and anxiety and suicidal thoughts, you have been through more than most people can imagine, and you _still_ show people so much kindness. If that's not strong, I don't know what is."

"Lily taught me to do that," Remus mumbles weakly, and Dilys ignores the comment.

"You say that you're just _you_. But do you want to know who _I_ see?"

"You don't know me," Remus says bluntly.

Dilys raises her eyebrows. "We've spent over an hour together every day for the last two weeks."

Remus says nothing, which Dilys apparently takes as a sign to continue, "I see a young man who has an extraordinary amount of love in his heart, some great potential if only he'd believe in himself a little more, and a very rare kind of strength to have dealt with everything and refused to give up. A man who deserves to be incredibly proud of himself and aware of his own brilliance."

A drop hits the back of his hands, and he blinks in confusion as another quickly follows. He touches a hand to his cheeks, which he's startled to realise are damp with tears, and swallows down the sob that's attempting to escape his mouth.

Dilys' voice is impossibly soft. "Why are you crying?"

"I – d-don't know," Remus says, his voice cracking, and he presses a hand across his eyes. "Fuck, I don't know, I-"

"How do you feel?"

"Overwhelmed," Remus chokes out. There's a long pause, and Remus can feel Dilys' eyes on him, but he can't bring himself to meet them, because the care he sees there might truly tip him over the edge. Instead, he keeps his palms over his eyes, breathing ragged sobs, tear ducts leaking _incessantly_ , because he can't seem to _fucking stop._

"You don't need to feel ashamed of crying, Remus."

"I'm not," says Remus reflexively, but his shaky voice belies the statement.

"Bullshit," says Dilys plainly, and Remus can't help but snort at the cuss.

Dilys isn't his usual therapist, because Poppy doesn't deal with crisis patients, but he's met her once before during a previous breakdown. Initially, the difference threw him, because he's so, _so_ goddamn tired of having to explain his mental health history to therapist after therapist after therapist, but Dilys focused on the _now_ , which was like a breath of fresh air. She's blunt but empathetic, absolutely refusing to stand for any of his self-deprecating 'bullshit' but always speaking from a place of genuine concern.

"I'm going to ask you a question, Remus, and I want you to really think about it. Take as long as you need, okay?"

Remus nods, drying his still-weeping eyes on his sleeve and taking a few steadying breaths.

"Why do you hate yourself?"

Remus' first instinct is to laugh, to dismiss it, to say _why wouldn't I?_ or _how long do you have?_ Or something equally defensive. But underneath that, there's something like genuine curiosity, because, he's got this far, hasn't he? There has to be something worth saving, something that his friends see as important enough to stick around for. Buried under all of the _shittiness_ and _uselessness_ that is Remus, there's a tiny voice that says _don't go_ and _hold on_ , and it's for that infinitesimal sliver of his soul that he forces himself to _try._

He's used to examining the dark, cruel, _ugly_ side of him that twists every positive quality he has in to selfishness and spite, sucks the life out of him like a parasite. He's used to it because it's how he's spent weeks at a time: wallowing in a self-loathing so deep and so toxic that he's almost lost himself to it on occasion. When other people point out the 'good' in him, the voice in his head scoffs that they're lying. When he does something that is objectively, unquestioningly 'good,' it murmurs that he's just pretending. When things fall apart, when he can't move without searing pain in his limbs, when he can't breathe past the tight knot of anxiousness in his chest, it informs him that _he deserves this_. And he's so used to just accepting that voice as truth.

But why?

Because it feels easier to loathe himself and recognise that such a piece of shit _deserves_ this suffering, than to admit that actually, he's not the monster that his mind persuades him he is. Because fighting this bullshit takes every last scrap of his strength and energy he can't afford to lose when his depression is already sapping everything from him. Because when he's being crushed at the bottom of an ocean of self-hatred, his 'goodness' is a distant light on the surface, and he is _drowning_.

Maybe the problem isn't that he hates himself, but that convincing himself otherwise takes more than he is capable of giving. Maybe it's that he doesn't feel like he matters enough to _try_ and love himself.

"Because it doesn't matter," Remus says slowly, licking his lips. "Because it feels like I don't have any other choice. Because I'm _tired_."

"Too tired to try?"

Remus closes his eyes. "I'm here, aren't I?" he says, and exhaustion roughens his tone.

"Meaning?"

"Obviously not."

Dilys watches him for a minute in silence, and Remus shifts uncomfortably. It's a relief when she speaks again, even if the question is another impossibly complicated one for him to untangle. "So, where do we go from here?"

Remus sighs. "I want to matter," he says eventually, the words pathetically small and fragile, and he almost cringes from the vulnerability of everything he's admitting. "Not just to other people – to myself. I want to – to _care_ about me."

"Okay." It's such a simple response but it's _enough –_ the relief he feels is palpable, and Dilys seems to sense this, because she smiles and leans towards him a little. "The very fact that you're here, the fact that you're _trying_ , says a lot about you, Remus. It tells me that a part of you somewhere does care."

Jerkily, Remus nods. "What now?" he asks, because the mountain he has to climb to get over this issue has never seemed taller.

" _Now,_ we're going to talk about why you matter," Dilys says, and chuckles as Remus grimaces. "Starting with your strengths. I want you to tell me about something you think you're good at."

* * *

As always, he leaves the counselling centre feeling drained in a way that only therapy can make him. He feels like his brain has been through a particularly aggressive spin cycle – although not necessarily in a bad way, because he can tell he's starting to shake loose some of the evil thoughts clinging to his skull. Progress is painstaking, but he can look at himself _now_ compared to a fortnight ago, and he can feel the weight on his chest slipping a little. Part of that, he knows, is the heavy-duty sleeping medication he's been prescribed because regular deep sleep works wonders, but being able to talk so much and so often to Dilys is just as important.

His homework is to stop himself every time he does something self-deprecating or self-sacrificing and challenge the thought process behind it. Which is harder than it looks, considering he's been out of the office ten minutes and has already tallied up seven incidences.

But it's a work in progress – _he's_ a work in progress. And that's okay.

(He is still not sure how much he wants to stick around, but the urgency in his chest has lessened. It's now more of a dull ache that twinges when he is alone, a voice whispering insults at him that is muffled by new medication, a passive want rather than a frantic _need_ ).

Other things that are apparently works in progress: Winky's litter-training.

He steps through his door and has to do some ballerina-style leap to avoid stepping straight in to a turd. He lands awkwardly, right in front of Winky, who stares up at him ruefully and mewls.

" _Why,_ Winky?" Remus groans in exasperation, because in the four months he's had her, shitting in her litter tray hasn't been an issue before this week. Winky blinks, licks the back of her paw, and begins cleaning her ears disdainfully.

Remus makes it another five seconds before his annoyance fades, because she is ridiculously adorable, and she damn well _knows_ it, and sure enough, he absent-mindedly strokes down her body as he makes his way towards the cleaning products under the sink. As he's cleaning up the mess, it occurs to him that this is a true mark of recovery; a fortnight ago, he wouldn't have had the energy to deal with it, and it would have probably stayed there stinking up the apartment.

Just as he's finishing up, his phone begins buzzing violently off the table, and clatters to the floor. Wincing, Remus hurries over, praises G-d that the screen is no more cracked than it was already, and hits answer without even checking who's calling.

" _Ahava shelli_ , hiiii!" The warm and dulcet tones of his mother's voice float through the phone, and Remus can't help the wary glance he casts at the clock.

"Mama, hi," he says, "how are you?"

"Better for hearing your voice, hey?" Remus closes his eyes and pictures his family home; it's a little after twelve, so Hope is likely standing in front of her tiny stove, with the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, her hands busily chopping or stirring.

"And how is papa?"

"Yes, he is fine, we are all fine." There's a pause, in which Remus hears the distinct splashing sound of something being dropped in a pot.

"Is there a reason you called, mama? Only I have to go out soon for James and Lily's cake-tasting for their wedding-"

"What, so now I need a reason to talk to my only son?" Hope's voice is teasing, but Remus still squirms guiltily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I know, love, I know. I won't be a long time-" (Remus resists the urge to snort, because Hope has never done a quick call in her life) "- I just _worry_ , I haven't heard from you for _days_. You didn't come home for Rosh Hashana, you say you can't do Yom Kippur – what's next, you're not coming for Chanukah?" It's only because Remus has practice at this that he can hear past the indignant hurt in her tone and recognise the genuine concern. "What are you doing?"

"Things have been… difficult, mama. I'm sorry I haven't come home." Remus winces at his weak-ass excuses. It's not that he's ashamed or dishonest about his mental health issues, it's more a lack of understanding – not for want of trying, but still a fundamental misunderstanding. His family doesn't really _get_ why he sometimes can't get out of bed for days at a time, why he doesn't answer messages until he can summon the energy weeks later, why the scars up and down his arms and legs mar his skin – they don't get it. And Remus has enough on his plate without dealing with intrusive and misjudged questions and comments from well-meaning relatives. This year has been spectacularly shit, and he couldn't have gone home even if he'd tried, because he'd had three or four embarrassingly loud and frustrated breakdowns about it.

His parents are _trying_ though, which he appreciates, and he _knows_ that lots of mentally ill people don't get so lucky. Conversations about mental health now revolve less around 'why don't you just get up and go outside?' and 'stop thinking so negatively, focus on the happy things!' and focus more on actually helpful support. But no matter how much progress they make, there's still a barrier between them when it comes to this particular topic (and Remus knows that's partly on him) – he isn't sure whether it's the immigrant thing, or the Jewish thing, or his 'gay thing' on top of everything else, but by this point, he's sort of accepted that there are some things he and his family will never quite see eye-to-eye on.

"You were depressed?"

Remus blinks in surprise at the bluntness of her voice – he doesn't think he's ever heard her address it so directly before. "Yes, mama. Things got – uh, really bad for a while." His voice still shakes a little when he thinks about just how bad things _really_ were, and how much further he has to go until they're _not._

Hope is silent for a minute; the only sounds are the clinking of her ladle against the side of the pan. "And how are you now?" she says eventually, and the words are as gentle as one of her hugs.

"I'm… getting better," Remus says, sliding down the side of the cabinet to sit on the floor. Winky immediately plonks herself in to his lap, and he strokes her distractedly as he searches for the right words. "I'm seeing a therapist more regularly. And I'm on different medication," he waits for her standard _tsk_ of disapproval at the mention of drugs but is taken aback when it never comes. So, he continues, "things are getting better again. Slowly but surely, you know?"

"And your friends, they take good care of you, hey?"

Remus smiles. "They've been wonderful."

"Sirius especially, hey?" The teasing lilt is back in her voice, and Remus feels – again – surprised at where this conversation is headed, but also strangely pleased, if embarrassed.

" _Mama_ , how did – he's not – he's been perfect," Remus finishes lamely, and Hope laughs brightly.

"Come now, Remus, you have been sweet on that boy since the day you first met him, I'm your _mother,_ I know these things. When will you ask him to marry you, hey?"

Remus groans, "oh my – we're not even _together_."

"Well what are you waiting for? I'm not getting any younger, and I want to see my son happily settled before I'm on my deathbed."

"I – I'm waiting to, for him to, argh. I'm waiting to feel like I deserve him." It's more honest than he intended to be, but it's the truth, and Hope's sharp intake of breath tells him the teasing is over.

"Now, you listen here, Remus. That man, he would be _lucky_ to have you – anybody, any man would be darned lucky to have someone so _sweet_ and kind and thoughtful." Her voice is fierce and full of the kind of powerful love that Remus feels from the tips of his toes to the crown of his skull. It draws him in the past, memories of his primary school bullies cowering at the ferociousness of this woman.

"Thank you, mama," he says softly, and Hope sighs.

"There is no need," she says simply, and Remus is about to protest, before she takes another breath, as though she's gearing up to something big. "I – I'm sorry I haven't been what you needed from me-"

Remus' hand stills on Winky's fur. "Mama, don't-"

"No, I haven't, and I know it. I have been… talking with my rabbi about how to support you. And… he, how you say… set me straight on some things. Your father too, we are both learning. We haven't tried enough. And I want to _do_ better."

There is a lump in Remus' throat the size of a tennis ball, and he should probably be alarmed at how hard it is to breathe, but he's too distracted by the fact that his mother is saying _everything_ he's waited so long to hear. His eyes are suddenly burning lava-hot for the second time that day, and his mind frantically scrambles for a response.

"Mama, I – you –" Everything sounds woefully inadequate, and he draws in a shaky breath. "That means _so much_ , I can't explain, I – thank you."

"I love you, Remus," Hope says quietly, but the sincerity in her tone tips him over the edge and he lets the tears fall, because for the first time, he thinks she _means_ it – she loves _all_ of him, even the bits she can't quite understand.

"I love you too," he says immediately, aching for her to understand the depth of his gratitude. He thinks maybe she gets it, because once they've both collected themselves, the conversation shifts to another topic, and it's different, it's _better._ There's an easiness in her questions about his health, and Remus stops trying to censor himself – it's so much _better,_ and the high it gives him as they say goodbye an hour later is giddying.

The conversation had been _high-key_ ground-breaking in terms of progress – Remus thinks that might have been the first honest conversation he's had with his mother about his mental health and love-life and not wanted to die in a hole after. It's a lot to process, but for once, it's _good_ stuff to process, and Remus feels like a wall he didn't know was erected around his heart has been demolished.

In fact, the only downside to the conversation is the fact that he's now forty-five minutes late to James and Lily's cake-tasting (which is apparently something rich people do, who knew?), which is low-key devastating because it's one of the few things about wedding planning he was genuinely looking forward to.

He seizes his keys and phone from the floor, grimacing at the messages and missed calls, and forces himself up and out of the door.

* * *

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Remus calls, bursting through the door of the bakery and setting the bell jangling vigorously. "Sorry, I'm late."

"No worries, Moonbeam," James waves him over, squeezes him in a side-hug, and continues, "we haven't made a decision yet."

Next to him, Lily also tugs him in for a kiss on the cheek. "But we already had the chocolate fudge cake, I'm sorry, hun." Remus pouts exaggeratedly to hide his crushing disappointment (because that cake is _fucking special_ , and Kingsley _refuses_ to share the secret recipe).

"Moony," Sirius waves him to an empty seat next to him, and Remus slides in to it, taking in the table, which is a warzone of plates coated with sticky crumbs and cream, mugs of tea, and a couple of untouched, strikingly decorated mini cakes. "I saved a piece for you," Sirius says quietly, sliding a decadent slice of chocolate fudge cake towards him, and Remus can't help but moan happily, leaning his head against Sirius' shoulder gratefully.

"I fucking _love_ you," he says with his mouth stuffed full, and Sirius chuckles, wrapping an arm around him and… leaving it there? (Remus would fiercely deny it if anyone asked, but he sinks in to the warm contact a little, feeling himself relax fully for the first time today. As it is, he catches Lily's knowing gaze, and rolls his eyes at her smirk).

"How was therapy?" Sirius asks, accepting a slice of what looks to be carrot cake, or, as Remus likes to call it, a Travesty, because what kind of sicko puts _vegetables_ in cake?

Remus swallows the last mouthful with difficulty and takes his own slice. "It was okay," he says, eyeing the carrot cake suspiciously. "I had a really good chat with my mum too, I'll tell you about it later?"

Sirius looks like he can barely contain his delight. "I'd love that," he says, grinning broadly, and the two of them turn to join the main conversation, which is a heated debate on the virtues of buttercream icing over royal icing. ( _Obviously,_ Remus sides buttercream, he's not an _idiot_ ).

The rest of the afternoon is the first time in a long time that Remus has felt genuinely _happy_ , and he wraps up the precious warm glow in his chest and locks it away safely, because he _needed_ this so badly. The opportunity to laugh at Peter with chocolate frosting on his nose, feeling his insides clench with anxiety-love-pleasure as Sirius feeds him a bite of red velvet cake, learning that carrot cake is not the devil he had imagined – all of it piles on top of each other, and fills him to bursting with a contented blanket around his shoulders.

Even the prospect of the suit-fitting with James, Sirius, Peter, Kingsley, and Frank – usually something that Remus would avoid like the plague, because it involves some of his least favourite things (mirrors from every angle, someone putting measuring devices around his 'problem areas') – can't dampen his spirits for long. The _bandh-galas_ for the Indian side of the wedding is loose and flowing, and he feels like a fucking _prince_ in it with its sparkling reds and golds. As for Lily's ceremony, the suit is nicer than anything he owns – probably nicer than everything he owns put-together, and ten times the cost – another thing that ordinarily would make him cringe with anxiety and shame at his own poverty, but today only causes an uneasy stirring in his stomach, that is quickly alleviated by Frank's _terrible_ attempt at dancing.

He finds that instead of the usual tsunami of shame and self-loathing, he can't bring himself to care that much when his trousers need to be taken out another inch. Because Sirius is beaming at him from where he's being fitted himself and mouthing ' _I'm so proud of you'_ and James is flapping over how phenomenal Frank looks in purple and gold, and Peter and Kingsley are dancing like pros, and for once, Remus feels unstoppable.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

sorry this one's pretty limited in r/s action (the next one is a biggie tho i promise)

no matter what stage of recovery you are at, even if you feel like you're failing, i'm so proud of you, keep going. recovery i h. you are tougher.

if y'all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here to get in touch!

feedback makes my world go round & i need some of that rn!

love always & take care xoxo


	10. I'm sorry for your loss

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for graphic description of a panic attack, discussion and memories of child abuse, references to disordered eating and self harm, grief

* * *

 **"I'm sorry for your loss."**

It's not often that Sirius is bored at work – there's usually so much to _do_ and _learn_ that he's focused and occupied from the moment he clocks in until he's forced out of his desk in the evening by his supervisor. But today is not one of those days; instead, he's half-filling in a crossword from yesterday's copy of the _Guardian,_ and half-texting Remus, his computer screen idle before him.

Consequently, he jumps out of his skin as Akilah appears at his shoulder, silent in spite of their heeled, steel-capped boots. They drop a thick folder on to his desk, and it's the slapping sound that makes him sheepishly fold up the newspaper. Akilah rolls their eyes, tapping a ringed finger on top of the file.

"Good job on that submission, Sirius," they say, "you've got yourself a client."

Sirius jerks up, seizing the folder and flipping through it excitedly, "seriously?!"

" _Siriusly_ ," Akilah says with a cheeky grin, cackling as Sirius sticks his tongue out at them. "Are you gonna manage this on top of your big magazine deadline?"

"Watch me," Sirius says, with more confidence than he's used to expressing – but he means it. He finally feels like he's found his footing at _Queerllustration_ ; he's stopped feeling star-struck around his idols, having realised that they are _just_ as nerdy and quirky as he is, he's been out on a pub crawl with all of his team and had a blast, and he's had nothing but positive feedback on everything he's submitted thus far. Even the prospect of running two big projects at the same time feels like a fun challenge rather than overwhelming – he is neither bored as he was at school, nor overwhelmed like at university, and the change couldn't be more welcome.

"Well, if you need anything, you know where I am," Akilah says, and Sirius grins, glancing over at Akilah's warzone of a desk (sketches, fabrics, magazines littered everywhere, half-full mugs of coffee surrounding their computer monitor like guards), "but I trust your judgement." Sirius' heart swells at their confidence in him, because is there any feeling in the world as good as being respected by someone you hold in the highest regard?

Speaking of – he glances back at his phone screen, which has three new notifications. One is a bunch of likes on his Instagram post of his latest coffee art (he might not be a barista anymore, but making patterns in steamed milk is _fun,_ alright?), and the second is Remus' guesses at the crossword clue he'd sent him. He studies the crossword for a moment, realising with unsurprised amusement that Remus is correct, as per usual, and sends him an affectionate ' _nerd'_ in return.

The third –

Oh.

It's a Facebook message, which is unusual in itself, because nobody in their right mind prefers Facebook Messenger to WhatsApp. But it's the sender of the message that makes him pause.

 **Regulus Black (1 New Message)**

Sirius stares at the notification for a few seconds, which blinks back at him, flashing with new messages at alarming rate. Then he shoves the phone away from him, and it lands face-down at the edge of his desk.

He _breathes._

For a few minutes, he manages to ignore the niggling sense of anxiety; he flips through the new folder without taking any of it in, he tries to edit a fight scene but frustrates himself with his inability to draw fucking _hands_ , he continues sending memes to Remus, allowing him to take control of the conversation.

(Remus is… struggling, there's no two ways around it. Sirius hates the fresh scratches he sees on Remus' wrists, hates the tired and empty look in his eyes, hates the way Remus talks about himself as though he's shit on the bottom of someone's shoe. He hates that Remus still has to fight to leave his bed each morning, that he can't face work without having violent panic attacks, that he lurches between forgetting (read: not caring enough) to feed himself and eating everything in sight).

(And yet. Things are improving: once upon a time, the scratches would have been gashes, the bleakness of his expression would not have lifted, the self-deprecation would have been _all_ that left his mouth. And Remus is _trying –_ Sirius can see how hard he's trying, and it fills him with the fragile kind of hope that he wants to lock away in a tower to keep it safe. When Sirius asks about how he's _really_ coping, he can see the struggle in Remus' mind, but Remus is fighting, and he is more open than he has ever been before about the reality of the situation).

(Sirius is sort of embarrassingly proud and concerned and grateful all at once).

His phone vibrates again, and Sirius clicks on the notification without thinking – expecting it to be Remus again. Only it's not, and the screen switches to Messenger before he can rectify this horrendous mistake.

 **Regulus Black:** Sirius. I know you do not want to talk to me. I understand that sentiment. But this is of the utmost importance, and I do not have another way of ensuring that this news reaches you. I implore you to believe me that this is not the way I would prefer to tell you this, but again, this is urgent.

 **Regulus Black:** Uncle Alphard has died.

 **Regulus Black:** I am so sorry, brother. I know how much he meant to you.

 **Regulus Black:** It was very sudden. The doctors say it was a stroke. Mother and Father – well, you can imagine what they are saying.

 **Regulus Black:** I am sorry. I know that probably means very little coming from me. But, he was my uncle too. And I am sorry.

 **Regulus Black:** In his will, Uncle Alphard has left everything to you, Sirius. Mother and Father are livid and are doing everything they can to get their hands on the fortune. But it belongs to you. One of your friends – MacKinnon - is a lawyer, I believe? Perhaps you can arrange something with them against Mother and Father. It is not important now, but I thought you should know sooner rather than later.

 **Regulus Black:** There's something else. Mother and Father have sunk even lower than I thought possible and have barred you from attending the funeral. I do not know what they will do to you should you show up anyway. I will of course give you the details if you wish to come.

 **Regulus Black:** You do not need to respond. But Sirius, please do not be alone. Please take care of yourself or let someone take care of you. I know this news must be very hard for you. But you were important to Alphard, and he would want you to take care too.

Sirius – he – he doesn't –

Sirius has a plethora of talents, but languages have never been among them – and for a while, he feels like he's had a passage of Mandarin placed in front of him, because the words? don't? make? sense? But then he realises it's more like he's reading an obnoxiously academic text, because he understands the individual words, but together it's like a riddle.

When he finally comprehends, it's like all the force of a brick wall crashes down on him – only it must be a set of walls stacked like dominoes, because it keeps happening. Every blow is _crushing_ , every breath is harder and harder to reach because he's _buried_ under mounds and mounds of rubble.

" _Sirius_ ," he hears, but it's muffled, and he is fading _fast._ There's even more pressure on his shoulders and he moans, shaking it loose – it's too much, too much, _too much –_

There are voices – beneath a rushing in his ears and the sounds of his choked gasps for air, people are calling his name and there's movement everywhere, but Sirius is drowning, drowning, drowningdrowningdrowning –

Something touches his neck this time, and he _howls,_ jerking away violently, causing something to give way beneath him and he thumps down, knocking what little breath he has out of his lungs.

"Right, everybody out!" Someone shouts and claps their hands, and Sirius presses his hands over his ears as he continues to fight for breath, because it's all so loud, why are they being so _loud_? There's some kind of animal too – something is making an _awful_ groan, as though it's been mortally wounded, and Sirius wants to sob at the sound of its distress, because it's _appalling._

 _(When he's six, his father takes him hunting for the first time. Sirius loves what felt like dressing up in the fancy riding gear and is so excited to be on a horse again. But then the hunt begins, and Sirius watches a dog ravage a pheasant, his father's hand clamped on his jaw to keep his head from cringing away from the violence. Tears course down his cheeks as he pleads with his father to make it stop, "_ please daddy, I'll do anything," _cries that are harshly silenced when his father backhands him hard, and spat, "_ I don't know why I'm so disappointed that you're as _useless_ at this as everything else." _When Uncle Alphard drops by later that evening, he is livid at the blotchy bruise across Sirius' cheekbones. Sirius can feel the phantom sensation of Alphard's gentle hands holding him in a rare, safe hug, can hear his voice explaining that under_ no _circumstances are Orion's actions acceptable)._

"Sirius."

Words are far too hard right now, and the only sounds he seems capable of making are pathetic whimpers, but he recognises that someone is trying to reach him from where he's trapped – someone knows he is here and suffocating.

"Sirius, you're perfectly safe. You're at work, you're having a panic attack. Can you open your eyes? I want you to see that you're safe."

Sirius is shaking his head violently before the person has even finished speaking, because he don't think he can cope with seeing the world in ruins as it now must be (or worse, the world as it was before, because if it's not in tatters, if it's just _his_ world, _how is he supposed to deal with that?_ ).

"Okay. Okay, eyes closed then. I'm not going to touch you," they say, and Sirius feels tears smarting at his eyes. (He can't tell what he wants, because on the one hand, the thought of people – _strangers,_ unknown people – laying hands on him makes him want to hurl, but also, he's an incredibly tactile person and the thought of a warm hug right now makes him physically _ache_ with need).

"We're just going to breathe together, okay? That's all you need to do, and I know it's hard, but you just need to listen to me, and follow me, okay?"

The voice begins to count, and with it, Sirius loses all concept of time. After a while, and what feels like a thousand ragged, counted breaths, he becomes aware that the keening injured animal is in fact _him_ , and the sound cuts off mid-wail. He feels overwhelmed – the combination of embarrassment, anxiety and grief have overtaken his utter panic, but it's still _too much._

"You're doing so well, Sirius, that's it. Let's keep breathing a bit longer."

Obediently, Sirius continues to follow the counting breaths (what else can he do?), and slowly – achingly, _excruciatingly_ slowly, he begins to return to himself. He can feel the smooth coolness of the floor beneath him, he can see vague shadows through his scrunched-up eyelids, he can hear the relative quiet of the office, save his noisy breathing and the computer monitors humming. He loosens his grip around himself ever so slightly, and when he doesn't drift apart, he forces himself to open his eyes on the next count of eight.

 _(When Sirius is eleven, he hides out at Alphard's apartment, which is smaller and drabber than the extravagance of Grimmauld Place, but feels more like a_ home _than anywhere Sirius has ever known. Alphard insists that he teach him to cook, because "one day, little man, you're going to get_ out _of that godawful house and family, and you're going to be free to live how_ you _want to live… but you're going to need to be able to feed yourself!" It's the first time that anyone has expressed belief that Sirius is capable of something_ more _than being a Black, and Sirius has never felt so hopeful and valued before)._

It's dazzlingly bright, which hints at how long his meltdown has lasted, and he shrinks back into the shadows under his desk ( _how did he end up under here?_ ). His muscles are throbbing from being held taut for so long and don't want to support his body weight, so he falls back with a soft thump. A coffee-brown hand reaches out and clasps around his wrist with a gentle tug, preventing him from thwacking his head against the ground.

He pulls himself back up, even though everything in him wants to lie down, curl up and cry. Akilah's concerned expression comes in to view, and Sirius feels another surge of shame at his behaviour.

"Hey, no, Sirius," Akilah catches his mortification, because of course they do, and opens their arms out for a hug. Sirius crawls forward, still humiliated but physically hungry for human contact, and allows himself to be swept in to Akilah's warm embrace. He closes his eyes against their chest (and a tiny part of him points out the enormity of the situation, because Akilah is awkward about their chest and the way it protrudes even under binding), and grounds himself against Akilah's heartbeat. "What happened? Is it the project?"

Sirius shakes his head, feeling a wave of fresh panic rise so fast that it's predatory, and he has to swallow down bile before he can speak. "I don't – um- I can't –" Words are much too much right now, and Sirius fumbles around for his phone, before shoving it in Akilah's direction instead, because the thought of having to say it out loud would mean acknowledging the truth in Regulus' messages, a truth which is too terrible to bear. They hold it steady as he shakily unlocks it, and Sirius can't watch as they read, doesn't want to see the moment they _get it_.

(He feels it though, because Akilah lets out a barely perceptible sigh and tightens their grip around him).

"What can I do?"

The compassion in their voice overwhelms him, and he feels a hot prickling at the back of his eyes. "I don't kno-w," his voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut, even as tears leak out.

"That's okay," Akilah says immediately, "do you want to go home?"

Sirius nods, even though he's not sure _what_ he wants, but _home_ means his friends and safety, and surely that will feel better than crouching under a desk with his employer.

"Is there someone I can call? I don't want you to be alone, and…" Akilah trails off as Sirius taps at his phone screen again, deliberately _not_ looking at Regulus' messages, and switches it to the WhatsApp conversation he'd been having before – all of this. "Okay. Okay. I'll give them a call," they say, and Sirius feels himself relax the tiniest amount for the first time.

(Nothing is okay. Nothing. He is simultaneously empty of all emotion and overflowing with how overwhelmed he is by it all).

He's not sure how he gets from work to home, because he shuts his eyes again, forces himself to think about _literally anything else._ When he next opens them, Akilah is speaking and he's been burrito-wrapped in a blanket on James and Lily's couch. The lighting is soft and unobtrusive, the television is on but almost inaudible, and the cushion he's resting his head on is one of the smooth, velvety ones. He can appreciate what Akilah's trying to do, even if he can't _feel_ any gratitude because of it. He vaguely remembers that Lily has a late shift tonight and that James has parents evening, but he doesn't mention either of those things as he's persuading Akilah that they can leave now. It sucks more of his energy than he expected to convince them, and he feels – numb.

He manages to hold it together for as long as it takes to feign half-smiles and reassurances that _yes, I'll be fine, my friend will be here soon, I'll call you if there are any issues_ , but the second Akilah leaves, he's floating again, stitches coming apart at the seams, and he wraps his arms around himself again, pressing his face against the soft cushion until it's hard to breathe.

 _(Sirius has known for years now, and years of shouldering this kind of secret have worn a tired and heavy ache in to his chest. It's something that is so fundamental_ to _him, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, and yet, it's not_ all _he is. But he knows his family won't see it like that. Then, one day, when he is fourteen and Alphard has just set a tagine dish before him, he cannot hold on to it any longer, and it comes spilling out of his mouth: "_ I'm gay _." Alphard blinks at him, then smiles broadly, and says "okay. "Thank you for telling me. I love you, Sirius" before spooning a generous helping of couscous on to Sirius' plate. "More couscous?")._

There's a knock at the door a little while later, but Sirius doesn't really hear it – or rather, he hears it but cannot register its significance. He huddles himself in to a tighter ball on the sofa, because if he loosens his grip for even a second, he is going to crack and fall apart and lose entire pieces of himself, and there is no coming back from that, he can't, he can't, he can't –

"Padfoot?" There's another knock at the door, and Sirius _knows_ that voice, its familiarity would usually send butterflies fluttering in his belly and warmth around his heart. But not today, not now, not when he feels so incredibly numb and empty and hopeless, nothing can penetrate, nothing can help him.

"Padfoot, I'm coming in now." Sirius blinks and wonders fleetingly how much time has passed since that first knock. He doesn't open his eyes again, instead he squeezes them tighter shut as the door opens, as though he can force himself to wake up out of this nightmare.

Soft footsteps pad in his direction, but he is barely aware of them – he's barely aware of anything on a physical level. He's trapped inside his mind, disconnected from his body, and he _knows_ that his fingers are tingling with a burning ferocity now because his entire arm is _dead_ , but he cannot make himself move it – he doesn't know how anymore.

"Hey," the voice is incredibly gentle, like a wave lapping against the shore. Sirius wills himself to open his eyes. It takes the longest time for his body to get the memo, but when it finally does, the kindest of faces swims in to view. Their eyebrows are knitted in a concerned frown, their eyes are sad and crinkled, mouth turned down at the corners. He _knows_ the name to this face, but his mind is so disconnected that everything's just foggy.

They continue talking, keeping their movements slow and obvious. Sirius lets the white noise wash over him like a tide, and keeps breathing, breathing, breathing. Eventually, it's like the world begins to come back in to sharper focus – shapes around the lovely face gain definition, the words being said make sense to him, and a name floats to the forefront of his brain: Moony. _Remus._

"M'ny," he mumbles, and Remus stops talking immediately, moving close enough that Sirius can extract an arm from his blanket nest, reach out a hand and touch his chest.

"Pads," he says, equally softly, and within that single syllable is a multitude of empathy and support.

"Can you-" Sirius reaches for Remus' hands, but his dead arm sends a throb of stinging pain up to his shoulder, and his limb flops uselessly.

With one hand, Remus begins massaging his arm, beginning at his fingertips and working upwards. It sends tiny sparks of pain darting through him, but the sensation is strangely grounding, pulling him back to himself. Remus presses his other hand to Sirius' cheek, and the warmth of his palm seeps through the numbness, thawing the ice that has taken control of his mind.

It takes forever, but eventually, Sirius can wiggle his fingers without pain, and he immediately twists his wrist in Remus' grip, so that their hands slot together like jigsaw pieces. The grounding it gives him makes him sigh inwardly with relief – even more so when Remus shuffles closer, pressing their foreheads together. Sirius closes his eyes, breathing in _Remus_ and all the comfort his scent brings, their lips so close they could kiss, only for once, Sirius has zero interest in kissing him.

Eventually, Remus presses a kiss against their entwined knuckles, and gently slides his fingers away. "I'm going to make us some tea, and then I'm going to cuddle the shit out of you. That okay?"

Sirius nods, even though it's not, and nothing will be okay ever again. Every breath he draws is one that Alphard cannot, and will not, ever again. It's like a knife twisting in his chest.

(He has to count deep breaths whilst Remus is out of the room, pleading with himself to not spiral once more).

Two mugs are placed on the coffee table with a light _clunk._ A warm weight settles next to him, and he doesn't even open his eyes, crawling blindly in to Remus' lap and pressing his face in to Remus' soft stomach. Remus runs his fingers through Sirius' hair soothingly, drags the blanket tighter around him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Remus says quietly, and Sirius screws his eyes shut so viciously, it hurts, because _those words._ He knows people mean well by saying them, but what good does being _sorry_ do? It's as meaningless as sending thoughts and prayers to the victims of a natural disaster – it's a nice gesture, but useless in the long run, and it is always about _them,_ it's not really about the _victim._ And so, Sirius has always had a complicated relationship with those words – one that is part resentment and part exasperation –

And yet.

When Remus says it, it's _different._ Because Remus understands the _weight_ of those words, having known his own fair share of loss in his life. And the way Remus says it isn't in an _oh-what-a-shame-now-let's-talk-about-me_ sort of way, nor in a _I-feel-so-bad-for-you-right-now_ way; it's entirely compassionate and empathic and full of the kind of love that Alphard had shown him – one that's unconditional and boundless and pure.

Sirius swallows all of these thoughts down _hard,_ and opens his eyes again, twisting his neck to meet Remus' concerned eyes. He nods simply, cannot smile, and Remus links their fingers together once more.

"You don't have to cope with this alone," Remus says gently but with a firmness that steadies the sick, anxious feeling in Sirius' gut. "You are _never_ alone, but especially not in this."

The tears threaten to return, and if he begins to cry now, he fears that he will never stop. Instead he turns his face back in to Remus' lap, allowing him to continue the head massage and start up a monologue about the impending Bake-Off finale.

* * *

"Don't leave," Sirius manages, what feels like hours later, once Remus has entirely wrung out an in-depth analysis of each contestant, before deciding that Ruby's firey-ness reminds him of Alice, and so is his favourite to win.

Remus squeezes him even closer, "never." He presses a kiss in to Sirius' hair, and Sirius feels himself welling up at the tenderness of it. He's not sure how much longer he can keep fighting the tears, though he's not even sure anymore _why_ he's fighting them, he's not ashamed of these emotions, and he knows that Remus would encourage letting it out.

(Somewhere in his scar tissue, however, lies the memory of his pet dog being killed in a car accident, and being _forbidden_ to cry, which has ingrained in him an expectation of punishment for expressing grief through tears).

Soon, James and Lily will be home, and even though he knows Remus has informed them both of the situation, their gentleness and comfort will be overwhelming. He snuggles closer in to Remus' lap, and _almost_ smiles when he hears Remus' stomach let out a small growl.

"Hungry?" he says, in a voice that is scratchy with pent-up emotion, poking Remus fondly, and the other man squirms a little.

"When was the last time _you_ ate something?" Remus counters, and Sirius frowns. Remembering a detail like that seems like it would waste all of the energy he's focusing on breathing and _not crying_ , so he shrugs, because _what does it matter?_ "Sweetheart, you need to eat."

Sirius shrugs again, not wanting to snap at Remus, but can't he _see_ that he doesn't give a _shit_?

Remus sighs and says, "what if I make a stir fry? Something quick and simple?"

Unable to muster any strong emotions around anything _food -_ related, Sirius shrugs yet again, which Remus seems to take as assent, because he makes to get up. Sirius involuntarily curls closer around Remus, his heart _clenching_ at the thought of being alone again.

" _Hey,"_ Remus says so gently that tears spring to his eyes _again._ (Or maybe all this kindness is the tipping point on how long he can refrain from weeping). "I'm not leaving. You can come with me." He waits for Sirius' reluctant nod before moving again, this time pulling them up together.

Once in the kitchen, Sirius leans his weight against Remus' back, where he's chopping carrots, courgette and pepper in to strips, and wraps his arms loosely around his waist. He closes his eyes, and focuses on the sounds of slicing and sizzling, the smells of soy sauce and frying garlic, the feel of Remus' soft flannel on his cheek.

Eventually, the gas is switched off, and Remus turns with a hum, wrapping his arms around Sirius. "Ready when you are, love," he says softly, but makes no move towards dishing up, instead just holding Sirius like he's something precious and loveable.

The front door opens with them still standing before the hob, and James and Lily sweep in to the room, wearing identical expressions of protective worry. Sirius braces himself for what will surely be a barrage of affection and concern, but to his grateful surprise, they simply join the embrace in silence. Sandwiched between his three favourite people, Sirius cannot stop himself – the relief and the anguish well up inside him, spilling out of his mouth in a strangled sob, as tears begin to stream down his cheeks. As one, his friends draw closer to him, allowing him to collapse his entire body weight against them as he begins to choke on his emotions.

(His grief is sharp and thorny and comes on all sides – every breath he draws, it snatches from him and replaces with barbed wire and spikes that it plunges in to his lungs – it _hurts_ , it _hurts so much_. There is no pain like this – nothing his parents said to him can compare to the blood-spattered _mess_ his grief is reducing him to –)

(And _God_ , it's _never-ending_ ) _._

Time must pass because his throat is dry and raw from the gasping, wretched sobs that have been ripped from it, and the front of Remus' shirt is entirely sodden with his tears and snot and saliva, and he aches all over from curling into himself like this. But he doesn't feel any of it. He feels nothing except the huge gashing hole where his peace and his contentment once were; now there is only anguish and pain. But eventually his body cries out in surrender, and his sobbing ceases all at once.

"Padfoot?" James says, very softly, gently touching the nape of Sirius' neck. When Sirius doesn't flinch away, he moves his hand up in to Sirius' dark curls, running his fingers through the tangles soothingly. Lily stands with a stiff difficulty, but Sirius doesn't raise his head to track her movements. Instead, he presses further in to Remus' chest, even though the dampness is _awful,_ and Remus is probably _sick_ of him –

"Sirius," Lily has returned, and Sirius lifts his face slightly to see her holding a washcloth. He closes his eyes, allowing her to wipe his eyes – his make-up is long-since ruined, but the warmth of the flannel soothes his sore cheeks and gets rid of the gross stickiness. When she's done, she sits back, looking more helpless than he's ever seen her – Lily is fiercely capable and dependable, and the sight of her looking so unsure is – frankly – terrifying.

Sirius takes a breath, and looks at James, who seems equally lost. With the two people he's come to count on most so powerless, he feels the ground begin to crumble beneath him, but he's saved from slipping through the cracks by Remus (because of course he is).

"Food. Bath. Bed. Cuddles. In that order. Non-negotiable."

It's rare for Remus to give orders – he is much more a follower than a leader, and Sirius means that in the best way, because there is nobody he'd rather have as a deputy. But the unusualness of the situation means that when he does take command, everybody snaps to attention immediately.

James hops up and begins reheating the stir-fry, whilst Lily makes them tea – peppermint by the scent of it. Remus helps Sirius to his feet, keeps an arm around his waist as he guides him to the sofa, and allows him to crawl back in to his lap. Minutes later, James and Lily come in with four steaming bowls and mugs. The heat of the bowl on his lap is uncomfortable, and the smell makes his stomach roll, but he knows that none of his friends will let him get away without eating, so he lifts a noodle wrapped around a carrot to his lips, and chews without tasting.

He manages half a bowl before he feels uncomfortably full and pushes the bowl away with a scowl. He knows he's being a bit of a brat, but he feels like he's earned it right now. Remus looks a little sad at the amount left in the bowl, but he doesn't push for more – it's just as well.

True to his word, Remus takes him in to the bathroom, and runs a bath in James and Lily's ridiculously big tub. He holds an Intergalactic bath bomb beneath the stream of hot water, because he knows that it's Sirius' favourite, and Sirius stares as the water swirls in to sparkling navy blue, glittering colours whirling across the surface. Remus leaves as Sirius undresses, but returns once he's in the water, and keeps up a steady stream of meaningless chatter. Sirius half-listens as Remus babbles on about the upcoming US elections, the dogs he saw today on his walk to work, his new medication and its side effects… the other half he is careful to keep on the water and not the intrusive memories that are attempting to barge through his mind.

But the warmth of the water is doing the trick. Sirius can feel the heat seeping in to his aching muscles, loosening the knots that have formed, and he relaxes just a fraction. And then a little more.

And then suddenly, Remus is stroking his hair back from his face, and the water is only lukewarm and he's so incredibly tired. Remus holds up a fluffy towel for him to step in to, and then hugs it around Sirius. They stay like that for a few minutes, just _breathing,_ and it's _nice_ and intimate and tender, and Sirius _has_ to go and ruin it all by shivering, doesn't he?

Remus immediately whisks him to his bedroom, where a pair of fluffy pyjamas are waiting atop his pillow, and Sirius slips beneath the covers gratefully, his head heavy and groggy and sad. Remus presses a kiss to his damp hair, and then makes to leave, but Sirius growls, snagging his wrist, and yanking, so that Remus stumbles on top of the sheets.

"You want me to stay?" Remus says, as though the way Sirius is tugging the duvet around him isn't evidence enough, and Sirius refrains from rolling his eyes, if only because it would use his final scraps of energy.

" _Obviously_ ," he murmurs, and Remus smiles. He joins Sirius under the covers, and their limbs immediately tangle as Sirius curls around him. Remus wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Sirius pillows on to his chest, and it's _so_ very nice and warm and safe.

"Good night, Padfoot," Remus whispers, as Sirius' eyelids close for the final time that night.

"G'night, M'ny," he slurs back, and swears he feels a kiss press against his cheek before he's off to the stars, floating in a galaxy of dreams and memories.

* * *

As peacefully as he slept, and as lovely as it is to wake up being spooned by Remus, his breath tickling the nape of Sirius' neck, the warm glowing contentment he feels pops like a balloon the second he _remembers._

Remus is awake the moment he sucks in a choked sob, rolling him in to his arms and allowing him to weep in to his chest.

"It's not _fair,_ " Sirius manages, after what could be a few minutes, could be an hour. Then he feels like an idiot for saying so, because Remus knows _that_ better than anyone. "It's not _fair_ that _he's_ gone and _they're_ still here when he was a better man than – than –"

"I know, love," Remus says softly, but he lets Sirius throw his temper tantrum against his chest as he holds him, because he truly is a saint and Sirius does not deserve him.

There's a knock at the door, and Sirius freezes, before burrowing beneath the covers and tucking himself in to Remus' squish. The logical part of his brain – which obviously hasn't woken up yet – knows that it's just James and Lily, and they won't give a shit that he's tear-stained and sleepy. But the bigger part just wants to be left _alone,_ so he doesn't emerge when Remus says, "come in," in his lovely, gravelly sleep-voice.

"Morning," James says, and the sound of mugs being placed on a hard surface stirs Sirius' interest – coffee? Tea? Water? He's so thirsty that any of those would be a dream. He pokes his head out of the covers, spies the coffee mug and launches himself towards it.

"Hey," Remus says, smiling fondly at Sirius' antics, "I would have passed that to you, you know?"

Sirius shrugs, settles himself against Remus' side, and carefully balances the mug on his knees, taking a sip even though it's scalding. Remus cards his fingers against Sirius' scalp - a sensation that usually makes him sag with pleasure, but today barely registers through the foggy grief-exhaustion-anxiety-sadness haze he's under.

"What's the plan today?" James asks, and the question is obviously directed at Sirius, but Sirius struggles to focus - it's all meaningless chatter to Sirius, because his world has shifted forever, _why_ hasn't everybody else got the memo that everything is utterly _wrong_ without -

"I'm at school until half five this evening," James tries, "and Lily's working till seven-"

"But I can swap shifts with Dirk, Sirius, if you'd like me to stay."

Sirius is already shaking his head, because the thought of being such a burden to either of them is unbearable - he cannot handle that sort of guilt on top of his already overwhelming load. (Even if the thought of being _alone_ with his thoughts for a whole day is also unbearable - he will _deal_ ).

Remus clears his throat, "I have a day-off today. I can be here all day if you'll have me. Just need to get Alice to feed Winky," he says, and Sirius feels the relief like a shield, protecting him from the awfulness of his own mind. James and Lily seem similarly relieved, and Sirius feels a surge of both love that they care _so_ much and irritation that they don't trust him to be alone. (His head is a fucking mess, and he's too _tired_ to examine his conflicting emotions).

In lieu of having to come up with a verbal response, Sirius leans in to Remus' touch, and forms lazy half-signs, ' _stay with me. Please.'_

Remus murmurs, "always," quiet enough that even though James and Lily are watching intently, it's an intimacy that's just for the two of them.

Silence falls and Remus plays with Sirius' hair and Sirius' coffee cools and Alphard is dead.

(These are the facts, but they feel more like knives through his chest).

There's something else that needs to be said - Sirius can see it in the way that James and Lily, as in sync as ever, keep exchanging glances full of worry. But neither of them say a word, and the silence stretches longer and bigger and _worse_. Eventually, when he can't stand the tension anymore, he spits, "if you've got something to say, then _say_ it, won't you?" It's harsher than he intends, and James flinches, but Sirius can't bring himself to feel guilty for his bluntness. (If things were different, he would be beating himself up for being so shitty towards his closest friends. Then again, if things were different, Sirius wouldn't even be feeling so numb to it all in the first place).

It's Lily who asks the question that they're all itching to, because Lily is the bravest of them all.

"We were just wondering when the funeral is, Sirius?" No matter how gently she asks it, Sirius' heart still shatters in to a thousand tiny shards, and it _hurts_ \- it hurts _so much,_ how can she just _say_ it like it's not rending the world in two.

Remus seems to sense something, because he reaches out and catches the mug just before it falls off Sirius' knee as he shifts violently, blindly lunging for _something_ \- anything to make it hurt _less._ He shoves his face into his knees, hugging his legs to his chest as tightly as he can, and he _breathes_ , the raggedness of his broken heart still aching with every inhale.

There's a hand on his shoulder - too large for Lily's, too warm for James' - and even though everything in him wants to shrug it off, it grounds him enough that he can find the words to say to his knees, "it doesn't matter. I'm not allowed to go."

The grip on his shoulder tightens abruptly. "What the _hell_ does that mean?" says Remus sharply.

"My - my parents don't want me there."

"When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?" James says incredulously.

"This is _different,_ " Sirius insists, "Reg says - they've barred me, and -"

" _Barred_ you?"

"What the actual fuck," hisses Remus, and Sirius looks up in surprise at the venom in his tone. The hold on his shoulder is hard enough to bruise (and Sirius would _know_ ), and Remus mouth is a grim slash. "How the _fuck_ are they so fucking _evil_ , I will _kill them_ -"

"Moony-" James says pointedly, but Remus shakes his head.

"They _know_ how special Alphard is - was - to Sirius - they are _doing this on purpose_ , and I cannot -"

" _Moony._ "

"Don't _Moony_ me, Prongs, how _dare_ they bar him - this is so fucking unfair, that's-"

(Remus has removed his hand from Sirius' shoulder, but it's now shaking with how hard his nails are clenched into his palm, and Sirius would rather a thousand times that it was _him_ Remus was hurting).

" _Remus._ " Remus finally falls silent at James' _I'm-a-teacher_ sternness, but still glowers defiantly. "Do you think this is helpful?" He nods his head at Sirius, who suddenly becomes aware that his cheeks are damp.

Remus has the grace to look ashamed as he deflates. Keeping his movements as obvious as possible, he moves back to Sirius' side, taking up his hand and twining their fingers. "I'm sorry," he says softly, and Sirius nods distractedly - he doesn't even _know_ why he's crying, and he's more concerned with where Remus' nails have dug into his palms. Remus raises their joined hands, uses the pad of his own thumb to wipe Sirius' cheeks, and it's so tender it stings the raw edges of Sirius' broken heart.

James moves to Sirius' other side, and Sirius leans tiredly against his side - it's not even eight am and he just wants to _sleep_ until he wakes up from this _nightmare_. Lily tucks his feet into her lap, shuffling closer, and for a moment, Sirius' sniffles are the only sound.

Eventually, James breaks it - "We can find out where they're - um. Where he'll be buried. And then we can go and pay respects. I know it's not the same, Pads, but -"

"Yes." Sirius says, unable to meet anyone's eyes, because he's terrified he'll see Alphard's disappointment that he can't even bring himself to stand up to his parents on this one small thing. Instead, Remus presses a kiss to his temple and Lily squeezes his leg gently.

"I'm proud of you, love," James murmurs, "we all are."

"For what?" Sirius says bitterly, "Alphard's the _bravest_ man I know - knew. _This_ isn't-"

"Having the courage to make yourself a priority _is_ brave," Lily says fiercely.

James nods in agreement, "if you went to the funeral, you'd be seeing your abusers again. You'd be understandably anxious about _that_ , and about making a scene, and you wouldn't get to actually say the goodbyes you need to. I know you _know_ this."

"Sometimes self-protection is the bravest thing you can do," Remus says quietly, and Sirius closes his eyes. He wants to take their kindness and _force_ his mind to accept it - to shove it at the voice that calls him a coward and _shut it up because it's wrong, dammit._

But he's so tired and sad and empty, and the combination is _too much_ for one person to manage. He curls into Remus' lap, facing away from the world's compassion that he can't quite convince himself he deserves. Remus returns to stroking through his hair in silence whilst Sirius wallows, and eventually James and Lily have to leave with kisses and well-wishes and the promise that they are only a phone call away.

(Sirius isn't alone - not emotionally, and certainly not physically - but he's alone in the intensity of this feeling. It's an exhausting, constant wave of grief that continually shudders through him, and it wears him down to the extent that he's slipping into a restless sleep once more).

* * *

It's Remus who phones into Sirius' work, explains the situation with a levelness that Sirius could never have managed, and arranges for compassionate leave. It's Remus who alerts their wider group of friends to the circumstances, details what he needs from each of them - _knows_ what he needs from each of them - and responds to the overwhelming tidal wave of well-wishes. It's Remus who sits in silence with him for hours at a time, willing to listen when Sirius feels like talking (which isn't often, especially in the beginning), and ready to talk when Sirius' head is too loud and overwhelmed (which is often).

The next few days are not a blur. Sirius remembers them in sharp painful detail, and every breath aches like an old wound. He does his best to keep busy - he and Remus go to Richmond Park, trample through the snow-laden fields, walk as far as Remus' aching bones will allow. Remus takes him to the newest exhibition on Aboriginal art at the RA, and he wishes that his mind felt less foggy to appreciate its beauty and individuality. The two of them bake cookies - gingerbread shaped like dreidels - and binge the entirety of One Day At A Time and completely sort through Sirius' wardrobe.

It helps to keep himself occupied, because it prevents the memories from forcing their way through, though not even the sight of Remus with flour on the tip of his nose is enough to lift Sirius' spirits.

He's not sure why it hurts _so_ much – he hasn't seen Alphard for a year, at least, and even then, their relationship has shifted from a paternal one to something like distant friends. The closeness had fallen by the wayside (and doesn't Sirius just _loathe_ himself for allowing that to happen?) when Sirius had found friends he could rely on and a life he loved.

And yet it hurts _so fucking much_.

Perhaps it's the fact that he used Alphard's money to escape and rebuild his life afresh, without once going to actually _visit_ his uncle and tell him how grateful he is. Perhaps it's the niggling voice in his head that whispers that Alphard _knew_ about the abuse but still did nothing to remove him from it. Perhaps most painful of all, it's that in spite of the awfulness of his upbringing, his memories of Alphard are among his most nostalgic, but recalling them in a world where Alphard lives no longer is unbearable.

He finds himself going to text Alphard when he stumbles upon a recipe Alphard would have loved. He has to force himself to put down the scarf he's unthinkingly picked up for Alphard's Christmas present. He thinks of him when he hears Vivaldi, and when he passes bouquets of red flowers, and when he sees a deer frolicking through the fields, and suddenly his memory is _everywhere_.

(And it's unbearable).

(He's so, so tired).

* * *

Remus doesn't leave. That thought is the one that Sirius wakes up and lies down to. Every time he reaches for him, Remus is there before the thought has even fully formed. Every time his breathing becomes too tight and everything too much, Remus has his hands clasped in his own and is counting steady exaggerated breaths. Every time he begins to cry and doesn't know how or whether he'll ever stop, Remus holds him close and lets him sob in to his stomach, offering nothing but kindness and love and support.

And it should feel suffocating – like having an overly-attentive shadow, only… it's actually the biggest comfort he can imagine? Having someone who knows him so intimately means that he doesn't have to put into words how terrible he feels - because Remus _gets_ it, and he gets _him._ James and Lily are, of course, wonderful, but it's _Remus_ , and it's always been Remus, and there's nobody else Sirius would rather have by his side. Remus validates him and supports him and loves him unconditionally - and he knows any of his friends would do so too. But it's _Remus._

(He spends a lot of his time wrapped around Remus' warm body, hands clasped together, Remus massaging his shoulders and neck, scratching his scalp, it's all Remus-Remus-Remus, and the tactile side of Sirius that _craves_ physical contact is in bliss).

(Even if nothing else is).

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

this isn't where i planned on ending it, so if it seems a bit abrupt that's why, but it was becoming a monster of a chapter, and i figured breaking it in two would work better for the plot so i hope you still enjoy!

if y'all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here to get in touch!

y'all are so so so kind, i'm so grateful for your wonderful feedback!

love always & take care xoxo


	11. You can have half

_Tw for grief, anxiety, hints at depression, a use of the f-word, mentions of child abuse._

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

* * *

 **"You can have half."**

Against James' wishes, Remus' advice, and Akilah's concerns, Sirius returns to work just a few days after the news breaks. Having lost four days to his grief, his schedule is tighter than ever, but the pressure is a blessing in disguise - because he plunges headfirst into his projects, and just… does not surface.

Time loses all meaning, now that he's spending every single second in the office - sketching, programming, editing, it's all time-consuming work that requires Sirius' utmost attention.

His friends bring meals to the office and his colleagues force him outside once in a while for some fresh air, but without his graphics tablet in hand, he's a shell of a person, aimlessly fidgeting and tugging at his clothes. He needs to be _busy_ and _productive_ because otherwise he's just the waste of space his parents always claimed he was, haunted by memories and longing for relief - but nobody seems to want to accept that. He begins to sleep at the office, but with no semblance of a schedule; he crashes beneath his workstation whenever exhaustion gets the better of him, and wakes to expressions of concern, aching shoulders, and the feeling of bone-deep fatigue that no amount of sleep can solve.

His grief is a current that keeps pulling him away from the work he's trying so hard to focus on, and every time it's a little harder to propel himself back to it. It tugs and claws and drags at him, and no matter how firmly he tries to embed himself in the sand, his pain is relentless.

But so are his friends in their compassion. Lily brings him his medication, and texts him reminders to _actually take it, you silly angel_. Frank cooks his favourite comfort foods, and doesn't complain a jot when Sirius cannot manage more than a mouthful. Kingsley makes him drinks by the gallon - some alcoholic, some not, some piping, some ice-cold, depending on how sad he looks at that moment.

Alice sends him videos of animals doing stupidly adorable things that thaw his frozen heart like nothing else can, and bakes him cookies and cakes that go largely uneaten. Peter seems to be the only one who understands Sirius' need to be _at work_ , because he enables him like the rest of the group refuse to - taking him to work, bringing him fresh clothes, asking him about the projects, and it's refreshingly normal where nothing else is. James encourages him to talk about his feelings, takes him to therapy, and doesn't get mad ever when it all gets _too much_ and Sirius screams at him to _fuck off, Prongs, I'm_ fine. Every time Sirius thinks James has peaked as a best friend, he goes and pulls something like this, which just reminds Sirius how utterly indebted he is for this friendship.

Marlene gets in touch with a promise to chase up the issue with Alphard leaving Sirius everything. Sirius wants to shout that he doesn't _give a fuck_ , _he wouldn't touch a penny if he could just have Alphard back_ , but he knows that she feels guilty she can't be there physically, so he lets her do what she needs to without arguing. On top of all of this, there are well wishes and messages of love from school friends he hasn't spoken to in years. It's a lot.

(It's too much, and every day, more and more messages stack up in his inbox that he simply doesn't have the energy or the will to respond to).

And then there's Remus.

Lovely, soft, understanding Remus, who comes to the office just to sit in silence and be with him because he somehow knows that the memories are a little less intrusive with his presence. Who brings him flowers just because Sirius' shoulders slump a little less with the sight of them. Who stops him from torturing his heart with a caffeine overload. Who witnesses every single panic attack and anxiety attack and supports him through them no matter what he's supposed to be doing. Who never asks for anything from him but gives and gives and gives, and Sirius takes it all greedily, because God knows he's earned the right to be selfish.

(Sirius cannot comprehend why he's spiralling when he has literally the best support network he could ask for, but he hates himself for this perceived flaw in any case. And this self hatred only shoves him harder into his work - he doesn't spare a thought for what he's going to do when he's finished because all that is keeping him going right now is the fact that he _needs_ to get these done).

His therapist tells him that the way he's responding is _normal_ and _expected_ , and he wants to yell _fuck off_ in her stupid face, because if it is _normal_ to be this angry and numb and depressed and _overwhelmed,_ he is uninterested in 'normal' and 'expected.' He tries to channel this frustration into his art - because healthy outlets are important, she also reminds him, but there's just… some kind of barrier? Blocking his emotions from the blank white page? He wants to fucking smash something - because _fuck_ healthy coping mechanisms, _fuck it all_.

* * *

Of his two projects, the most pressing task is a double page spread in the next month's issue, which will introduce a character of Sirius' own design, complete with costume, backstory, and a personal article. He has enough free reign that he barely needs to ask Akilah's guidance at all (which is a blessing because the thought of talking to _anyone_ brings him out in cold sweats and ragged breaths).

His character is one he's been perfecting since his Final Project at university, and perhaps this makes it such an easy task despite the fogginess of his brain. He pours his tattered heart and battered soul into first the paper sketches, then into the tablet, his eyes aching from the attention to detail. What he ends up with actually stirs a feeling of _something_ in his stomach, and he clings to the thought of something that isn't grief-related like a lifeline.

Ember, a trans woman of colour whose 'real job' is in chemical engineering, can manipulate shadows to travel through the world, and she's, in Lily's words, _completely fucking awesome, I love being bi_. Sirius maps out her afro with painstaking strokes, referencing and counter referencing her features to ensure he's doing this _right_ , and by _right_ , he means _don't be a racist fuck and make her nose all like a white person,_ in Frank's words.

The comic strip of her origin story involves an unhappy childhood, a found family, and a journey of self-acceptance that is so close to his own, it's almost embarrassing, except he's so in love with Ember, he doesn't give a single shit. Her superpowers come about from an experiment gone-wrong at work, the product of enthusiastic conversations he'd had with Gideon about the plausibility of this incident all those years ago. It's nostalgic in just the way he needs - living in the past, a past in which Alphard was alive and well and thriving, means that he can pretend, however briefly, that the ground hasn't collapsed beneath him.

The final section - the personal article - presents the greatest challenge, and he half-heartedly bashes out a few paragraphs on the importance of representation that make him wince in their detachedness. It takes almost a full bottle of whiskey late one night to actually allow the emotions to spill _out_ , into sentences about how works like _Queerllustration_ 's saved his life, how the realisation that people like _him_ could be heroes too meant so much to anxious, closeted twelve-year-old Sirius. It's cheesy and personal and possibly too-much when he sends the article to Remus to edit, because as gifted as Sirius is with pictures, it's Remus who's best with words. Remus sends an edited version back within a few hours, and Sirius loves him for it - both the eloquent way he's rearranged Sirius' syntax and the speed with which he's turned a diamond-in-the-rough shiny.

The end result is one that, even in his grief and frustration, Sirius is proud of.

(He thinks Alphard would be too).

(If only he were here to see it).

* * *

The second project is one that Sirius had been so excited to be commissioned, because the idea of a mural for a children's ward sparks the sense of adventure and hopefulness that he sorely needs. Fresh from the adrenalin of churning out his first project, he refuses all offers of time-off or an extension, and ploughs onwards, ignoring how flat and empty the world outside his sketchpad has become.

Remus comes to the office at eight o'clock at night one day, and watches him work for a while in silence. He's been working on the mural mock-ups for _hours_ by now - a fact, he knows by the ache of his shoulders and the sting of tired eyes. Eventually, Remus shifts from his spot in Sirius' swivel chair, and crouches before him, cupping a hand to his cheek and forcing Sirius to meet his gaze.

"Please come home," Remus says softly, and the vulnerability in his eyes almost breaks Sirius. He _almost_ caves. _Almost._

"I have to finish this section," Sirius mumbles, reluctantly removing himself from the warmth of Remus' palm, and turning back to his designs.

Remus says nothing, and Sirius cannot bear to look back at him, for the disappointment in them will be unbearable. When Remus gets up and leaves, Sirius feels his already-broken heart shrivelling, and he forces himself to breathe through the pain of it, concentrating as hard as he can to distract from the ache in his chest.

But then -

The door clicks open once more, and Sirius jerks around in surprise. Remus is standing there, his expression heart-rendingly kind. He's got a blanket wrapped about his shoulders and arms full of take-out containers.

(Sirius wants to sob at the gesture - at how _good_ Remus is, and how much he _cares_ \- but he can't seem to remember how. Or rather, there's something that doesn't allow the tears to _come_ , they're somewhere inside him, but trapped).

Remus sits beside him, and Sirius tucks against his side, huddling into the blanket that Remus drapes between them. When Remus pops the lids on the various containers, the aroma of Indian food hits his nostrils, and for the first time in weeks, the smell doesn't nauseate him. He manages more than a few mouthfuls, listens to Remus natter about his day, allows himself this hour to just _be_.

Because then it's back to the grind, and no amount of pleading from Remus will persuade him to cut himself some slack.

(Why should he take it easy when Alphard cannot take _anything_ ever again?)

* * *

The finished design is pretty fucking epic; superheroes will decorate the wall, clad in brightly coloured costumes and masks, but these superheroes are _special_ , because some are in wheelchairs or on crutches or missing limbs, some have Special Needs, some have no hair, some have oxygen tanks. In other words, they look like the children he's seen on his visits to the ward, all with various illnesses and injuries, all far stronger than anyone their age should have to be.

(And if there's a hero in there who's older, with crinkles around his grey eyes and a wild mane of platinum hair, whose features make Sirius' chest _pang_ , then what of it?)

The commissioners are utterly thrilled with it. The children are delighted, the families are admiring, the medical staff appreciative. Congratulations, interview requests, and thanks come pouring in at an alarming rate. Plans are made for it to be painted the following month, and the attention it attracts funds a second commission in another section of the hospital. All Sirius hears is _how well he's done_ , that he's a _rising star_ , that _this is only the beginning of a bright future._ And of course, he's grateful, these are things he's dreamed of hearing his whole life.

But it's too much.

Of the people clamouring his brilliance, there are none more enthusiastic or proud than his friends, all of whom photograph it from every single angle, save any and all mentions of his name in the local paper's coverage, are more supportive than he deserves.

And Sirius -

Does not register any of it.

It's almost like he thought that finishing these projects and making a name for himself would feel like enough - would counter the horrible, unacceptable truth that Alphard is gone.

But nothing has changed.

Alphard is still gone.

And logically, Sirius _knew_ that completing these projects and pretending things were normal wouldn't change this fact.

But he still feels like a failure for it.

* * *

When the paint is dry on the walls, Sirius leaves the hospital, nodding at the nurses he's come to know by name, and… walks. He walks past the tube stop he needs to take if he's heading back to the office, past the stop that leads home, past the buses that he could catch to Peter's - and he just keeps walking.

The sun drifts lower and lower in the sky, until the Christmas lights are flickering on and Sirius is low-key shaking with the cold the evening brings. Businessmen shove past him impatiently whilst tourists amble in front of him, and no matter where he positions himself, he is _in the way, a burden, an annoyance, empty, empty, empty_. Catching sight of his reflection in the shop windows is a nasty surprise; he barely recognises himself in the heavy bags beneath his eyes and the downwards twist of his mouth, but he can't find it in himself to care.

By the time his nose is running from the cold air and his limbs are well and truly numb, the crowds have thinned out, but he doesn't stop walking. His mind is oddly blank, and his feet keep carrying him, as though each step might shake off the incredible weight of grief he's shouldering.

(It doesn't).

He's not sure at what point the tears start coming. In fact, it's only when an older gentleman leaving a mosque stops him in concern that he's even aware that he's crying. He accepts the tissue the man is pressing on him, but waves off any other questions, dabbing his leaking eyes and forging onwards.

It's ironic that the harder he cries, the more people avoid meeting his gaze. The tears are streaming and his vision is too-blurred to see straight - he's a complete fucking wreck, and nobody cares enough to help him.

(Except that's not quite true).

(Because there are friends who would help him only a phone call away, and it would break James' too-generous heart to know that Sirius was walking the streets alone and devastated).

(As it is, it's Remus' door he ends up at).

(Because of course it's Remus. It's always been Remus).

He's trying to pluck up the courage to knock on the door, when the man himself comes round the corner. Remus is wearing his university sweater - the one that Sirius likes to steal and curl up in because it's huge and carries Remus' scent better than anything else - and has his earphones in, a carrier bag swinging loosely from his fingers. Sirius hasn't been spotted yet, which gives him approximately five seconds to arrange his features into something a little less distressing, and wipe his eyes.

Then, Remus looks up. The second his eyes meet Sirius', he's _running_ \- and Remus doesn't _run_ \- but he makes the short distance down the corridor in record time, and presses a hand to Sirius' cheek.

Neither of them say anything for a moment, but Remus' eyes flit frantically over Sirius' face, before he loops his arm around Sirius, and tugs them both inside his apartment.

(Were he in a better state of mind, Sirius would be concerned over the fact that Remus doesn't bother with a key, because his lock's _still_ fucking broken).

Winky hops down from her perch on Remus' countertop, and purrs as she winds through their legs, following them to the sofa. Remus pulls Sirius down beside him, and Sirius goes, willingly, hugging as closely to Remus as is possible. The tears, which have momentarily eased, return again in full force, and Sirius is racked with sobs as he arches into Remus' lap. "W-why am I - crying - again?" Sirius manages, and Remus runs a soothing hand up Sirius' back. "Why can't I stop?"

"Because you've repressed this for too long," says Remus so gently that Sirius doesn't even flinch at the blunt honesty of it. "Because you pushed through it, and didn't let yourself grieve."

Sirius screws his eyes shut, the pain in his chest mounting with every ragged breath he draws. "It _hurts,_ Moony." He claws at his chest vaguely, though _hurts_ doesn't even cover it - it's all-encompassing, all-consuming -

"I'm sorry, love," Remus whispers. He twines their fingers together, rubbing his chest in circular motions. It does nothing to ease the pain, but it's a reminder that he's not alone in this hell-hole, and it's _Remus_.

" _Hurts_ ," Sirius repeats to himself.

"What can I do?" Remus says, the desperation seeping into his tone.

Sirius shakes his head, has to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping something like _bring back my dead uncle_ , and murmurs, "just hold me?"

"Of course," Remus whispers, tugging Sirius even tighter against his chest.

Eventually, Sirius' flow of tears ceases, though this has more to do with dehydration and exhaustion than because he's nowhere near done feeling terrible about it. From that point, the intense cuddles morph into something more relaxed; the tv is left on a Netflix show they've both seen before, Remus reheats some leftovers, and Winky settles down in Sirius' lap. Sirius looks blearily at the menorah in Remus' window - it's electric, because anything else in a flat so poorly-built and badly-designed seems too risky - and watches as Remus lights another of its candles. He looks so beautiful in the candlelight - all soft edges and warm golden glow - and he ducks his head self-consciously when he catches Sirius' staring. "Happy Hanukkah," he says.

"Happy Hanukkah," Sirius returns, trying to ignore the thought of _is Remus missing Hanukkah with his family? Is that because of me?_

"Where do we go from here?" Remus asks, what must be several hours later, judging by the temperature drop in the room. Sirius, almost cozy and comfortable in his nest of _blankets-safety-Remus_ , takes an anxious breath, because he knows what he _needs_ , but it's not what he _wants._

"I think… I need to sign off work for a while. But like, properly this time."

Remus squeezes his hip where his hand is resting. "I think that sounds like a really smart idea. I'm proud of you."

"I love you," Sirius says quietly, and one day, when his head is less grief-heavy and his heart less broken, he will be able to say those words with the full significance of everything in his soul. But today is not that day.

Remus replies at once, and the words bring a warmth around his heart that is the most _feeling_ he's had in far too long. "I love you too."

* * *

And so begins a true healing period. One in which Sirius lets himself sob when he feels his heart re-shattering, scream when everything feels _so unfair dammit_ , smile when something pleasant happens - because lovely things _do_ happen, and he doesn't have to live the rest of his life feeling guilty for it.

(Or so his therapist says. He'll get there eventually).

In other news, he's sort of living at Remus' now? For the time being at least? The first night he'd slept over, Remus had had to go to work the next day, and Sirius just… didn't leave. And then he continued to not leave. He spends the time Remus is working hanging out with his friends in their various workplaces, or binge-watching shows with Winky, or sketching _for fun, not for work, I promise, Prongs._ It's the first time in forever that his mind has been able to just _be_ , and he can feel the weight lifting a little with every day he spends waking up to the sight of Remus bashing his alarm clock in annoyance.

That's not to say it's easy - it's not. There are days where getting out of bed is Far Too Much, and he cannot breathe for panicking. There are times when he remembers that he's probably really overstayed his welcome at Remus' and works himself into a tizzy about burdening his best friend.

But there are also lazy Saturday mornings with pancakes and syrup, late-night excursions for ice cream, tug-of-wars with Winky, outfit-selecting for Remus, phone conversations to Remus' family… it's all so fucking domestic, and it makes Sirius' heart ache for what could be. The thing is, living with Remus is _safe_ and _warm_ and _comfortable_ , and Sirius _wants_ it all, all of this and so much more.

("Is it helping?" James asks him one Wednesday evening, when Remus has a bar shift and it's just the two of them in the flat. Sirius feels guilty for the wistfulness in James' eyes as he nods, but his heart flutters as James admits, "you seem so much better these days. Remus is so damn good for you").

In Sirius' incredibly unbiased opinion, he's inclined to agree, because days later - days? weeks? months, even? - he opens his eyes, takes a breath, and isn't bombarded with painful memories. And a little while after that, he wakes up and finds that his chest isn't a gaping hole - it's more like there's the skin covering the wound is thin and fragile, but healing. _He's_ healing.

* * *

Before Sirius' colossal and overwhelming breakdown, Marlene had promised to help him with the Will Situation, because an official-looking letter arrived from his parents' lawyer that had made him burst into tears without even opening it. He kind of assumes she's got better things to do, until one day, he gets the following cryptic message:

 **Marlene:** ahem, bow down before me, underling, for I have worked magic and it is finally time to recognise my brilliance

 **Sirius:**?

 **Sirius:** i kno ur brilliant i don't understand

 **Marlene:** true, true

 **Marlene:** but no seriously, I've dealt with your shitty family and the will money is yours. They can't touch it, or you.

 **Sirius:**?

 **Sirius:**!

 **Sirius:** are you for real?

 **[Sirius is calling]**

"Marls," Sirius half-sobs the second she picks up, "Marls - thank you."

"Don't mention it," Marlene's voice - usually full of the fire and justice that make her such a successful lawyer - is soft, but no less protective. "It's amazing what you can achieve with accusations of child abuse and neglect."

Sirius winces, because she's right, but the truth hurts. "I love you," he says, and Marlene makes an _mhm_ sound that Sirius _knows_ is accompanied by a hair flip. "I - I don't know how to thank you enough -"

"No seriously, don't mention it. You're my friend and I would do anything for you, yada-yada-yada, let's not get sappy." Marlene's briskness has returned, and Sirius can't help the fond smile his lips curve into. "I'm gonna send you over the details of emails between me and their fuckheads - I mean lawyer scum - and the form you need to sign, and then the money is yours."

There's a pause, in which Sirius exhales, trying to process everything all at once, and Marlene softens her tone again: "And Sirius, love?"

"Mmm?" Sirius says vaguely, still too affected to deal with _more_.

"It's a lot. The money, I mean. He's left you everything."

"I don't care about the money - as long as I don't have to face _them_ again, I couldn't care less about-"

"You _will_ , when you see it."

* * *

(Despite Marlene's efforts to warn him, waking up one morning with an extra two digits on his account balance is a _shock,_ to put it mildly. Once he's finished logging in and out of his account, refreshing the page, and even contacting his bank, it finally begins to sink in that Alphard has given him _everything._ And the implications of that generosity are _huge_ ).

Because, here's the other thing: Sirius knows that Remus is poor. Living with Remus had been like a brick in the face at university, because he'd never had to worry about where his next meal was coming from, or choosing between paying the gas bills and paying for school textbooks. But Remus _did_ have to, saved and scrimped every penny like it was goldust, and got terrifyingly annoyed at the rest of them if they were ever wasteful. But somehow, in Sirius' disgusting throne of privilege, since university he's sort of forgotten what it looks like to be poor. It's only as he watches Remus cut open toothpaste tubes to scrape off the remnants, or mix his toiletries with water when they're half-full, or save potato peelings for homemade soups, that he remembers. (And he's completely disgusted with himself that he ever _forgot_ ).

He watches Remus' pile of bank letters grow, watches the way Remus' wrinkles deepen and his shoulders climb higher and higher with tension whenever he's opening his bills. He watches Remus' gaze skip straight over the Tesco Finest selections, to the reduced to clear and everyday value ones. He watches Remus wear through the sole of his shoes, shrug and continue wearing them, because what choice does he have?

And his door's still fucking broken.

Sirius thinks it's this last thing that causes the spark of inspiration in his brain, and once it's ignited, it's unstoppable.

"We should move out and get a place together," is what he proposes over dinner that night, his heart hammering and palms sweating.

Remus raises his eyebrows, forces a laugh, and says, "very funny, Padfoot."

"No, I'm serious -"

"So am I," Remus says, laying his fork back on the plate. "We've talked about this before. This place is a shithole but it's also the only London property in my budget."

"Not if we were living _together_."

Remus pauses, and for a split-second, Sirius thinks he's going to agree. "You and I have wildly different budgets," he says eventually, taking a sip of his drink, and not meeting Sirius' eye. "And besides, I thought you were saving up for your own place?"

"Just listen to me, for a second," Sirius says, reaching across the table and wrapping his hand around Remus' wrist. Remus looks at him, but says nothing, and Sirius takes this as a sign to continue. "I've researched this properly, Moony. This place is _awful_ , and I hate the thought of you living somewhere like this… but if we joined forces - well, with the money from Alphard, we could get somewhere together - somewhere _nice_ and safe."

Remus has stiffened, and Sirius feels the anxiety creeping up his spine like a serpent.

 _Fuck._

"I don't want your money, Sirius," says Remus tightly. "Or Alphard's. Let's drop it."

"But it could help us find somewhere to live," Sirius protests, his anxiety making him clumsy and insensitive, but also unable to stop his efforts. "You could live somewhere with a landlord who'll fix your door, and where you don't get _faggot_ written on your mailbox, and where-"

Remus stands abruptly, taking his bowl to the sink, and scrubbing at it harshly. "Drop. It."

"Just explain it to me then!

"I just _did,_ you're not _listening._ "

"If this is about the money, then you _know_ I don't care -"

"Exactly, you don't care about it," spits Remus, whirling back around to face him and - oh, he's pissed. "Because you've never had to. You look at a place like this and think, _oh what a dump,_ and throw your money around, but for some of us, this is as good as it gets, okay?"

He's not quite shouting, but this is no longer a conversation, and Sirius feels _awful_ and _shaky_. "But I'm offering you a way out of that," he says in a small voice, even as he digs himself further and further into this grave.

Remus closes his eyes, presses his fingers against his mouth, and says, "I don't want your money. I'm really happy that Alphard's left you enough money that you're able to offer this, and I know this comes from a good place, but-"

"You can have half," is what spills out of his mouth, and he knows how it sounds - it may have come from a place of utmost care and concern but right now, it just sounds privileged and classist and awful. "I-"

"I don't want your money," Remus repeats. His face has shuttered off, and Sirius feels a swell of annoyance because _this wasn't how it was supposed to go._

"Stop being so bloody _proud,_ I just want to _help_ ," Sirius snaps back, hating himself even as he's ruining _everything._ "I _love_ you, and I don't want you to live like this."

Remus laughs, but the sound is wrong-wrong-wrong, miserable and cruel and so un-Remus-like that Sirius flinches. "If you really loved me, you would understand that you're being a massive dick about this."

Silence falls. Winky looks between them, at the shattered remnants of their friendship/relationship/whatever they are to each other. Sirius' chest hurts once more, but this is an entirely different type of heartbreak, one that he's not sure he'll survive.

"You can go." Remus won't look at him.

(Sirius has ruined _everything_ ).

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

ouch. this will be edited for errors, etc. later.

if y'all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here to get in touch!

y'all are so so so kind, i'm so grateful for your wonderful feedback!l

love always & take care xoxo


	12. the briefest of interludes

_Tw for grief and references to child abuse._

* * *

 **the briefest of interludes**

One day in late March, when daffodils are bright golden spots against the bleak _grey_ ness, the whole group will make their way to a small, nondescript graveyard in East London. The gravestone will be small and mean, inscribed with just a name and a date, and there'll be a wilted bunch of red dragonsnaps at its base. James will hug Sirius tightly, Remus will touch his cheek gently, and the group will hang back as Sirius walks the last few steps alone and kneels.

Even though he will have planned this moment and rehearsed it a thousand times, now that it's here, his mind will be blank and numb.

"H-hello." His voice will carry across the graveyard, and he'll flinch, carefully lowering it to a whisper.

"I miss you," he'll mumble. "I miss you and it's been months but it still hurts, Alph."

The grave will say nothing - obviously, but the silence will still ache.

"I know I wasn't the best at staying in touch. Especially this past year. I'm sorry for that. You deserved better. But I deserved better too - I deserved more than you gave me, and you gave me a lot, but… when I needed you most, you weren't there, and I think I've ignored that fact for too long." Sirius will clear his throat, the weight of this realisation almost unbearably heavy. "Thank you for the money. It's too generous and I don't know how to begin to thank you for it, but then you always were too generous." A pause.

"I wish we'd had longer," Sirius' eyes will start to blur at this point, though the ache in his chest will have finally started to subside. "There's so much I want you to see. But… I think you'd be proud of me. I know I am."

He will hesitate, but a glance at his friends, waiting in solemn solidarity will give him the courage to continue. "There's a man I'm in love with, Alph. You'd love him too - I… I think - I'm going to ask him out. Life's too short to waste it. You always said that." Sirius will swallow hard. "I - I think I'm only now beginning to understand that."

He'll stand with aching knees, and lay a gentle hand atop the tombstone. "I love you. Goodbye, Alph."

(Shortly afterwards, he'll open up a message that's been left on read for far too long. He'll tap out a dozen messages with shaky fingers, stabbing the backspace before he can send them. He'll pause, take a breath, and type something he _means_ , hitting enter before he can spiral further.

 **Sirius Black:** hey. sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. thanks for letting me know. you take care too).

* * *

 **author's note:**

consider this a peace offering for the angst of the last chapter/upcoming angst, and a reassurance that things are going to be okay!

take care and love always xoxo


	13. Take my jacket It's cold outside

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for mentions of negative body image, depression, anxiety, self-harm, fat-shaming, and discussions around classism.

* * *

 **"Take my jacket. It's cold outside."**

The thing is, when Remus said _you can go_ , it wasn't meant to be a permanent thing. He didn't mean _take your stuff and get out of my home,_ he didn't mean _you're not welcome here anymore._ But he should have realised, that with Sirius' history, he wouldn't have taken it any other way. Within an hour of their row (? - Remus doesn't _want_ to call it a row, or a conflict, or anything that suggests that things aren't _fine_ between them, because in doing so, it acknowledges the mishmash of hurt, anger, and embarrassment that has tangled itself in his chest), every trace of Sirius' semi-residential status has quietly removed itself from Remus' flat.

And Remus _hates_ it. He hates not hearing Sirius impersonating Freddie Mercury, he hates that there are no longer toothpaste smears on the bathroom sink from where Sirius spits too enthusiastically, he hates the way that Winky mopes around the patch of sofa Sirius had made his own, pawing at the indent his perfect arse left there.

For the longest while, all Remus can do is sit on the floor in front of his sofa, Winky against his chest, too numb to even cry. His head is a tornado of emotions, and he flips between self-doubting guilt and self-righteousness anger dizzyingly fast. On the one hand, he knows he's justified in his frustration - and the part of him that has therapy stitched in to his very core reminds him that his feelings are valid and important. Impact matters more than intent - and whilst he doesn't doubt that Sirius' intentions were good (because Sirius _is_ good - reckless and thoughtless and impatient, but fundamentally, unshakably _good_ ), it doesn't detract from the fact that his words _hurt._ It hurts because Sirius should know better than to call him _proud_ and force his 'help' upon him. It hurts because the implication that _money_ and a new place to live would make all his problems disappear is fucking _offensive_.

It hurts because having Sirius living with him for the last couple of weeks has been so fucking domestic and lovely, and this was a just a harsh reminder of what cannot be.

(Remus has to suck in a shaky breath at this point, because, numb as he is, this wound has struck him at his centre, and it _hurts_ ).

And then there's the other part of him - the part that is so steeped in self-loathing and depression that it will never truly be cleansed. It whispers that this was an overreaction, that it was deserved, that he's ruined the best thing in his life - that Sirius will never come back. It murmurs that it wouldn't be so bad to take the money and offer, that Remus has doomed himself to struggling forevermore. (It _lies,_ Remus tells himself, though even in his head, he's not as firm as he would like to be).

He's itching to _talk_ to his friends and have them validate his feelings, because if he keeps them inside his head, he is going to have a breakdown. He can already feel the ragged edges of his heart aching with every shuddering breath, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears.

But he can't. Because Sirius will be home by now - with James and Lily, not with _him,_ because home will never mean Remus ever again now - and Sirius will _need_ them both. And… if he's being really honest with himself, he's afraid of what calling them might mean;

James doesn't do sides, but if he did, Remus knows he would always choose Sirius in a heartbeat. The two of them are closer than brothers, and matter more to each other than almost anything else, and whilst Lily is more likely to be neutral, Remus cannot pit her against her best friend and fiancé - not for his sake, it's not _worth_ it.

( _He's_ not worth it).

Remus jolts and realises his nails are embedded in his palms - the stinging pain in his hands is _real,_ and he stares at the way blood oozes from the marks. It scares him how much Sirius means to him - it _terrifies_ him that he's so quickly reverted to old coping mechanisms, and it's this unbridled panic that makes him finally _move._

He needs to _get out_ \- and not in the sense those words would have meant a couple of months ago, he just needs some _time_ out. Running away from his problems hasn't always helped in the past, but the thought of staying here, and having to deal with the fallout of his and Sirius' relationship, of having to explain himself to every one of his friends, of having to explore with his therapist why this hurts _so_ much - he can't.

And so, he won't.

Winky blinks dopily at him, then tucks herself back into his stomach, and he makes a rare, spur-of-the-moment decision.

He's going home.

(If you can call a place that made you despise everything about yourself, that tore you down with every millimetre you grew, that taught you that you were _wrong_ and _worthless_ and - if you can call a place like that _home)._

* * *

The following morning finds him at the train station, an over-priced ticket in his pocket and a dreadful heaviness in his heart. He's thrown things together in a rucksack without really thinking - which is how he later ends up with twelve pairs of socks but no underwear - having rung his mother on the way to the train. She had done her best to hide her surprise beneath a layer of genuine pleasure, but Remus knows there'll be prying questions when he arrives.

(He's weirdly okay with that - perhaps by then, his heart will have finished gouging scars in his chest).

And so, he avoids the calls from his friends, cancels on his therapist, pointedly _doesn't_ look at Sirius' Snapchat story, and clambers aboard the train that will take him to the place he once thought he'd never escape. The journey is appalling - as all trains outside of London are - and it's early evening before he finally arrives.

His father stands on the platform, a tall, thin man leaning on a stick and squinting at every passenger who exits the train. When he claps his eyes on Remus, he hobbles towards him as fast as his knees will allow.

" _Ahuv,_ Remus!"

" _Shalom,_ papa," Remus returns, allowing himself to be clasped tightly in a warm embrace. Despite the rockiness of their relationship, the comfort this contact gives him almost brings tears to his eyes, and he has to swallow hard against his father's shoulder to hide it.

"You look tired," Lyall says, almost accusatory, and Remus waves a hand.

"Work. Delays. London stuff," he says, "is mama at home?"

Lyall frowns at the change of subject, but allows it, attempting to take Remus' backpack as they make their way to the car park. "No, we are collecting her from work on the way home. She is very happy you are here."

"I'm happy to be here," Remus says, internally wincing at how _bad_ of a liar he is.

"Nobody is happy to be here, Remus. This is the place people come to die."

" _Papa._ "

"Hush now." His parents' car is almost as battered as his own, and it takes three attempts before it sputters into life, but his father pats the dashboard affectionately anyway. "Tell me about your work."

Remus shifts uncomfortably. "There's not a whole lot to tell," he says, and at his father's noise of displeasure, he begins a halting update on the publishing company and its struggle in the digital age. By the time they've reached his mother's place of work - a hotel on the outskirts of town - Remus is cringing from the weight of his father's disappointment at his lack of _anything -_ no success, no promotion, no clue what he's doing with his life.

(Perhaps this was a mistake).

(But then his mother arrives and hugs him so warmly and tightly that he can't stop the tears from leaking out this time).

Her chatter fills the journey back to his parent's tiny house, and continues into dinner. Remus is grateful for it, because exhaustion is starting to cloud his brain, and any more interrogation about his employment failures will lead to an actual breakdown. Instead, he soaks up the unchanged-ness of his childhood home and tries to pay attention to all of the gossip about people he used to know like his own family.

(He hopes that his father's mention of the girl he'd briefly dated in secondary school was out of humour and not hopefulness, but the glint in Lyall's eyes makes his heart sink).

The nostalgia here is suffocating - as he lies in a bed too small for his frame, and stares up at a ceiling that's still covered with posters of animals, he struggles with the memories of the depression that had almost taken control of him as a teenager. He remembers avoiding looking at his body and the way it _bulged_ when stepping from the shower, and how unhappy it made him to catch sight of his reflection. He remembers spending hour after hour either crippled with a darkness so all-encompassing, it pinned him in bed, or a panic so overwhelming, it was all he could do to lie as still as possible. He remembers picking apart razors and playing with lighters and sharpening shards of glass with the sole intention of destroying himself.

They aren't good thoughts.

(But it's not Sirius and how everything is ruined between them. It's something altogether different and darker, but it sucks him into a restless sleep far more effectively than recent events could).

* * *

He deliberately hadn't bought a return ticket - partially because he hadn't felt able to make that sort of decision, and partially because his bank account wouldn't stretch that far - and so, he doesn't even think about going _back._ He spends his days wandering streets he used to know like the back of his hand, helping around the house with cleaning, and exploring the tracks into fields and forests at the edge of the town. Most of the time, he's alone, but as long as he keeps himself busy, he's fine - he can handle this.

He knows his parents are worried about him - they discuss him in hushed voices when they think he's not listening, and he pretends not to notice the concerned looks they give him. His friends are worried too, and it's this that reassures the tiny part of him that feared their rejection.

Look, he knows he can't stay here forever - he can't even stay here long at all, given the fact he's _supposed_ to be at _work_ \- but right now, it's where he needs to be.

* * *

 **Alice:** Is this you having a breakdown?

 **Remus:** Nah, just needed some time out.

 **Alice:** From ?

 **Alice:** From Sirius?

 **Alice:** Bc I swear, if /he's/ the reason you've run off back to the place that nearly killed you, imma kill him.

 **Remus:** It's not like that Al

 **Remus:** I swear, no killing necessary

 **Alice:** Are you okay?

 **Alice:** Like honestly?

 **Remus:** Yeah

 **Remus:** At least, I will be. I needed this.

 **Remus:** It's complicated. But I'll explain when I'm back.

 **Alice:** You are coming back, then?

 **Remus:**?

 **Remus:** Of course?

 **Alice:** Just checking

 **Alice:** Love you [purple heart emojis]

 **Remus:** [purple heart emojis]

 **James:** i don't like thinking of you being back there but i will accept that you're doing what's right for you

 **James:** just know that i'm here when you're ready to talk, k?

 **James:** love you so much [sparkly heart emojis]

 **Remus:** Thanks Prongs [sparkly heart emojis]

 **Lily:** i miss u, when r u comin home?

 **Remus:** Idk yet, but I miss you too [red heart emojis]

 **Lily:** [sad face emoji, broken heart emoji, red heart emoji]

 **Sirius:** can we talk pls?

* * *

"Don't forget your drugs, _hamud_."

"Aren't I a little old to be your _hamud_ , mama?" Remus looks up from his bowl of porridge with a wry smile, the endearment warming his heart.

Hope looks affronted, clasping a dramatic hand to her bosom. "Nonsense," she says briskly, "you are always my _hamud_ , Remus. In fact, here." She whips his bowl away, deftly tips the bottle of golden syrup upside down and liberally sweeps it across the surface. When she returns it, she's grinning mischievously, and Remus can't help the chuckle that bursts out of him at the smiley face dribbled over the oats. "When you were little, you wouldn't eat your breakfast without this," Hope says fondly, and Remus smiles too as he's tugged into the memory.

"And when you were in hospital, papa went out of his mind trying to get me to eat," he says, spooning up a mouthful of pure syrup. "Because he didn't know that I had your sweet tooth."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, _ahuv_ ," Hope chides him, but she's still smiling. In the weak morning sunlight, the rays catch the strands of her hair that are turning silver, and dance over the crinkles about her eyes. Remus deliberately doesn't think about the way her eyes strain to read the papers, or how stiff she rises from prayers, because thinking about her ageing sends him on a downwards spiral into thinking about _death_ and the anxiety that gives him is not something he ever wants her to witness.

Remus swallows and takes another bite. Hope sips at her tea, and the morning is quiet and still for a while as they sit with their thoughts.

Eventually, Hope clears her throat. "It's not that I don't love having you here," she begins, and Remus' heart sinks at what must be coming next, "but I _am_ worried about you being here."

"You don't need to worry, I'm fine," Remus says automatically, and Hope _tsk_ s loudly.

"It is an insult to me as your mother that you expect me to believe that." Remus lowers his spoon, ready to apologise, but Hope continues. "It's my _job_ to worry about you, _ahuv_. And it doesn't take much to work out that something's upsetting you."

Remus hesitates, because whilst he and his mother are both _trying_ this openness and honesty thing, there's a large part of him that still feels he has to shield the ugly parts of himself from her, that doesn't want to burden her with his messy problems. In that pause, Hope reaches a hand out towards him, and links their fingers together.

"Talk to your mama, Remus."

Remus sighs. "It's - it's complicated. I - sort of argued with Sirius. And I'm really _pissed_ at him, but I still l - he's still my friend, and I… I guess I'm just disappointed."

"What did you argue about?" Hope's tone is neutral, but when Remus raises his eyes to hers, the care in them is _so much_ that a lump rises in his throat.

"He… well, I told you about his Uncle Alphard."

"Yes, yes, the reason you didn't come to Hanukkah."

"When he died," Remus says slowly, "he left Sirius his money. A lot of money. And Sirius - he said he'd give me half of it."

There's a pause. Hope's eyebrows have climbed to her hairline, and then she repeats incredulously, "he'd give you _half_?"

Remus pushes himself from the table and begins to pace, unable to control the irritation that is thrumming through his limbs.

"It's like he thinks he can just throw money at a situation and magically make it better? Like I don't _know_ that my flat is terrible. And he comes along with his millions and says he'll move us somewhere _better_ and I'm just supposed to click my heels and snap to it? Like I'm some fu- some _charity case._ "

Hope stares down into her mug. When she speaks, she sounds tired - more tired than Remus has ever heard, "when someone is born with that level of privilege, it takes a long time for them to unlearn it. I'm not -" she raises her hands placatingly when Remus makes to protest. "I'm not trying to excuse him. He should know better. And that he doesn't is _exhausting_ for us working-class folks."

"I'm just _tired_ of it. I'm tired of having to save _everything_ I can and watch them spend the equivalent of my rent on a shopping spree. And I know they don't even _mean_ to be dicks about it, but that sort of makes it _worse_ , because they're so _used_ to their entitlement that they don't have to think about it."

Hope lets him rant - perhaps it's because she can tell he _needs_ to let this out to someone who understands, perhaps it's because she uses his frustration to fuel her own anger, perhaps it's because she loves him and she's his mother. Either way, she makes an encouraging noise to continue, and suddenly, it's like every ache of growing up in poverty is exploding out of him:

"They've _never_ understood it - not really. James and Sirius both come from private school, six-car, four-house families. At uni, I had to _teach_ them how to do their laundry, because they have _people_ to do that for them. They didn't understand why I had to have two jobs to cover uni. They don't understand how privileged they are that their parents paid for their accommodation and tuition fees and _everything they asked for_. They don't understand what it's like to have to learn to drive illegally in your cousin's _stolen car_ because their daddies bought them their own when they turned seventeen."

Remus leans against the table, hands clenching its surface so tightly he can feel the splinters embedding themselves in his palms. "And even the others are too middle class to get it - Lily went abroad every year for holidays, and Frank and Pete _sort of_ get it but they've never struggled for money for meals or had to watch their parents go to bed hungry so that they could eat." He meets his mother's eyes and the understanding in them draws him back to his seat with a sigh. "And I'm glad they've not had those experiences… I'm just tired."

"I'm sorry, _ahava shelli_ ," Hope says after a while, once it becomes clear that Remus has run out of steam. There's little else that can be said, and Remus continues to stew in his hurt frustration, the pleasant feeling from before entirely dissipated. He glares at the smiley face in his bowl - though its smile has turned into a grim slash by now.

The silence stretches for a long while, and Remus can tell Hope's building up to something, because the anticipation makes his stomach squirm unpleasantly.

"You know that Sirius didn't mean this maliciously," Hope says carefully, and Remus opens his mouth to protest - because _sure,_ but? Not the point? But Hope quickly continues, "I'm not saying to forgive him immediately. Because he needs to learn to be better. Not just for your sake. But… if this boy is as good as you've made him sound over the years, I know he's going to do the work. He cares too much to let this come between you. And so do you."

"I know," Remus says softly - this isn't anything he hasn't spent the last week circling back to in his head, but somehow, hearing it out loud makes something click.

( _I care too much to let this come between us_ ).

"You know why this hurts so much," Hope murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.

Remus takes a deep breath, and it aches like pulling glass from a wound when he admits, "I'm just - I can't help but think we're _too_ different sometimes. Like, _even if_ he felt the way I do, we're from such different lives - I have _nothing_ to offer him that he-"

"Remus John Lupin. I did not raise you like that." His mother's voice is sharper than it's been this whole conversation, and Remus starts. "Money or no money. That man would be _lucky_ to have you. Do I make myself clear?" she says fiercely, and Remus nods meekly.

( _One day,_ he'll be able to believe her. One day, he'll know his worth - he has to trust in that. For now, he'll have to trust in the people he trusts the most).

"So, what now?" Hope says eventually, quieter and calmer than before.

"I just need him to apologise," Remus says at last. Because if he doesn't - then he's not the man Remus is convinced he is, and he's not worth the years of pining Remus has subjected himself to.

(But he _will_ apologise, and he _is_ worth it. Remus is certain of it).

"Have you let him?"

"I - what?"

"Have you given him the chance to apologise?" Hope says.

Remus looks at her, then down at the porridge, and bites his lip.

"I think you know what you need to do, _hamud,_ " Hope presses the palm of a warm, weathered hand against his cheek, and leaves the room.

* * *

Travelling back to London feels bizarre - although he was free to leave his parents' this time around, there's a sense of lightness and _liberty_ that accompanies him all the way down south. It's warmer in the city, and it's warmer in his soul - though sadly not in his flat as he re-enters, and shivers as the temperature drops a few degrees.

He can't afford to turn the heating on, so he pulls on another woolly jumper and pretends its as good, and makes a cuppa. Once he's settled on the sofa with a blanket about his shoulders, he pulls out his phone, and begins to respond to the piles of messages he's left answered over the last few days.

Eventually, he comes to Sirius', and tries to summon the same resolve he felt yesterday, in that tiny kitchen.

(It shouldn't be so difficult to tap out such a brief response).

 **Remus:** Yes, when?

His heart speeds up painfully when he hits send, and he clutches his phone to his chest like a _teenage girl_ , because he _likes_ Sirius so fucking much, no matter how problematic he is, and he's _desperate_ for this to work out.

His phone buzzes, and Remus jumps, immediately checking his notifications. To his… disappointment? Relief? He's not sure how to feel - either way, it's not Sirius.

Instead, it's a message to the group from Kingsley, informing them all that the following evening is a Compulsory Gang Meet, to be missed under pain of death. His friends are so fucking dramatic.

Speaking of dramatics - Winky slinks into the apartment through the tiny broken windowpane, catches sight of him, and flings herself at his feet, meowing loudly. Alice has been coming and feeding her, but Remus still feels guilty that she's been alone all week.

He snaps a selfie of her curled against his stomach, and goes to send it to Sirius - even goes as far as to tap out a _how cute is your daughter?_ before remembering.

(Soon, things will be _normal_ again, and Remus can go back to pining in peace - still torturing himself with dreams that can never be, but at least he'll be torturing himself _with_ Sirius instead of this awful distance).

* * *

To say that things are Awkward at the pub, would be the understatement of the century - possibly even the millenia. Sirius nodded and smiled when Remus arrived - late, obviously - but they haven't _talked_ yet, and the only available seat was directly opposite Sirius, not exactly ideal for a deep, meaningful chat.

"Gonna go for a smoke," Kingsley stands, waving his lighter. "Anyone coming?"

"Yep," Frank says solemnly, pulling out his inhaler, and making to stand. Alice rolls her eyes, too used to his jokes to even muster a smile, and yanks him back down unceremoniously.

"I'll come," Remus says, surprising himself, because cigarette smoke makes his head hurt and stings his eyes, but he also can't stand the unhappy tension every time his and Sirius' eyes meet.

Kingsley's eyes flicker knowingly towards Sirius, then back at Remus, and his smile twists into something too sympathetic for Remus to bear. "Let's go," Remus says hurriedly, seizing his threadbare coat from the back of his seat, and looping an arm around Kingsley's.

Sirius suddenly stands, and the chatter of the group dies immediately, as their friends look between them. The attention makes Remus' anxiety flare.

"Take my jacket - it's cold outside," Sirius says, his eyes imploring Remus to meet his gaze. Remus steadfastly looks at the floor, but takes the proffered leather jacket, sliding it around his shoulders.

He's loathe to admit it, but it helps. It's baggy around the shoulders and tight around his middle, effortlessly cool in a way that Remus has never been and could never be, but it takes the bite out of the wind. (And, a tiny treacherous corner of his mind whispers, it smells like Sirius - his fancy aftershave and outdoors and paints - which is possibly more comforting than any physical benefit).

Kingsley lights up a cigarette, taking a long inhale, and releasing his breath slowly, so that smoke combines with the mist it creates. He's all long limbs and glowing, obsidian skin, casually sprawled against the pub wall, like something straight out of a catalogue. Remus leans beside him, and for a while, neither of them say a word.

Then -

"So. You and loverboy are in a tiff?" Kingsley's tone is light, but he links their arms together in solidarity, which takes the sting out of _loverboy._

"He's not my loverboy."

"Sure, and I'm a straight white boy."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Fine. I _like_ him-" (it's strange how much easier that is to say out loud these days? Remus-half-a-year-ago would have a panic attack sooner than admit that) "-but it's not like that."

Kingsley blows a circle of smoke, and Remus is half-admiring (because Gandalf, duh?) and half-disgusted (because _smoking_ , duh?). "What'd y'all fight about?"

Remus sighs. "Me being poor and him being rich."

Kingsley frowns. "What, is he tryna Pretty Woman you?"

Remus laughs in spite of himself. "Something like that."

Kingsley sighs. "Rich people, eh?"

"I know."

"Are you gonna forgive him?"

Remus stares at him, because _as if_ Remus has any choice in this, as if he'd let this stand between almost a decade of friendship and an unrequited crush. "Of course."

"Does Sirius know that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I heard through the grapevine that he's convinced he's ruined everything."

"If by grapevine, you mean you eavesdropped on him-"

"Fuck you, I have my sources," Kingsley elbows him playfully in the ribs.

Remus laughs. "I'm waiting for an apology. But when he does, of course he's forgiven."

Kingsley stares at him. "If you were any more in love with him, you'd be vomiting rainbows, I hope you know how gross you're being."

"Wow, that's homophobic."

"Your mum's homophobic."

"Not anymore."

Kingsley cackles, stubs out his cigarette, and slings an arm around Remus. "I've missed you, don't just disappear again, kay?"

"I won't."

Kingsley shifts from one foot to another. "Fuck, it's cold. You coming back in?"

"In a minute. Go on without me."

"You sure?" Kingsley frowns, but he's only wearing a shirt, and just the sight of him is making Remus shiver.

" _Go,_ " he urges, and Kingsley slips back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

Remus leans back against the wall, wrapping the jacket around himself, and exhaling slowly. He can't say that he's altogether surprised when the door opens again, and a familiar voice says, "Moony?"

Sirius stands there, wringing his hands together, looking more nervous than Remus can bear. "Can we talk?"

"Yes," Remus says immediately, and Sirius' shoulders visibly relax.

"Thank you," he says, the relief palpable, "can we…?" He gestures down the road, and Remus shrugs.

"Sure."

Sirius smiles - hesitant and still nervous, but just as fucking cute as ever. Remus' heart - his stupid, fucking _traitorous_ heart - pounds a little harder at the sight of it (and wow, he's never getting over this man).

"Let's go."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

i know it's painfully slow and everything but they're getting there i promise!

i'll proofread when i'm not about to keel over with tiredness. pls comment/chat to me, it would make my day

if y'all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here to get in touch!

y'all are so so so kind, i'm so grateful for your wonderful feedback!l

love always & take care xoxo


	14. Sorry I'm late

These are based on a tumblr post by p0cketf0x.

Tw for anxiety

* * *

 **"Sorry I'm late."**

Sirius doesn't know how to feel as he stands back in the room he'd temporarily vacated. When he'd let himself back into their flat, James and Lily had been curled around each other on the sofa, James with a heap of marking on his lap, Lily painting his toenails. Both had started in surprise, James leaping up in concern when he catches the numbness in Sirius' eyes. Sirius had shook his head, because he can't begin to deal with everything right now, and he's sort of terrified that James and Lily will (rightly) side with Remus.

Because. Now that he's away from the tense atmosphere and Remus' broken door, every scrap of self-righteous anger has deserted him and he is hollow, hollow, _hollow._ All he can see when he screws his eyes shut is Remus' expression of shocked hurt, all he can hear when he buries his head beneath his pillow is the fragile anger of Remus' " _you can go._ "

He clings to his crumbling belief that he was in the _right,_ that he'd had Remus' best interests at heart, that he hadn't _meant_ to cause any harm - but as he stares down at the bitten stumps of his fingernails, the sense of self-loathing overwhelms him. Anxiety is having a field day with this latest development - the frantic skitters of his heart as he begins to doubt that Remus will ever forgive him. The cold sweat of his palms as he pinches his skin to wake himself from this complete _nightmare._ The thoughts - so _loud_ , so _panicked,_ so _right_ \- reminding him that he's _really_ fucked it up this time, that this is what he deserved.

A knock at the door cuts through his spiralling fears, and before he can prepare himself, Lily pokes her head around it.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Why ask when you're just gonna come in anyway?" snaps Sirius, then winces, because _wow, is he on a mission to push away_ all _the people he cares about today?_

Lily raises her eyebrows, but says nothing, slipping in and shutting the door softly behind her. She stands and looks at him appraisingly for a minute, and Sirius squirms beneath her stare, the tiniest part of him _convinced_ that she's about to ask him to leave the house and never return.

(She doesn't - of course she doesn't, because this is _Lily_ he's talking to).

"How's about we cuddle and you tell me what happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Sirius mumbles, rolling on to his side.

"Yeah, I don't believe you."

(She's right. He _does_ want to talk about it, if he's being totally honest with himself, it's more that he's afraid of what will happen when he does).

He flops on to his back, stares up at the ceiling, the hopelessness crushing him flat. "You're going to hate me."

"Impossible," Lily says at once, and plonks herself on the end of his bed. She pats the space next to her, and Sirius hesitates, then burrows into her side. Snuggling Lily isn't the same as snuggling with Remus - she's soft and warm in all the right ways, but her scent is hand sanitiser, peanut butter, and fresh rain. It's still a thousand times better than being alone - her warm weight quiets the neurotic chatter in his mind, makes it easier to breathe.

"What happened?" Lily asks eventually, voice as soft and gentle as the hand she cards through his hair.

Sirius allows himself one more minute of affection he does not deserve, then takes a breath. Inside, his emotions are still in turmoil - shame, hurt, still-tender grief all bound up with panic and fear - but on the outside, he fights to keep his tone level. Lily's expression does not change as he recounts what happened at Remus' flat, nor does her hand still its movements.

Finally, the words run out, and silence falls.

When Lily speaks, her voice is carefully neutral, "so, just so that we're on the same page. You're worried about Remus' financial situation and his shitty flat, and so you thought the best way to approach it was to _tell_ him that he's poor and lives in a shitty flat, and offer him half your fortune and a way out."

Sirius winces, because _what was he thinking_? "I didn't mean it to come across that way," he says weakly. "I was genuinely worried and I thought - I thought I was helping."

"How did you think it was going to go?"

"I - I thought…" Sirius closes his eyes. "I don't know what I thought. I was just so desperate to _help_ , after everything he's done for me, I just - I don't - _kn-ow_ -" his voice wobbles alarmingly, and he snaps his mouth shut around the sob that threatens to burst out of him.

Lily squeezes him tighter against her, and presses a kiss to his hairline. "Oh, Sirius. Do you want me to get James?"

Sirius shakes his head, because getting James means explaining his fuck-up all over again - but this time, to the first person who ever believed he was worth befriending.

Lily sighs, "I know your intentions were good, because I know how much you care about Remus. But you can see that the way you went about this was pretty fucked up, right?"

Sirius doesn't trust himself to speak, but he nods, screwing his eyes shut. There's a lump in his chest that is physically painful to breathe around, and perhaps it's a mark of how well Lily knows him that she places her hand directly above the tangle of hurt.

"I love you to bits," she tells him sincerely, "and I know you're going to fix this. And I'm here for you." Her words are the balm his soul is so desperate for, but he can't let himself get away that easily -

"I don't know how- _w_ to fix it," Sirius croaks, "I don't even know if I _can-_ "

"Okay. So that's what we'll work out then."

" _We_?"

"I'm not going to make you do this alone," Lily says, as though this is obvious. "You're one of my best friends."

"So is Remus though."

"So? We're adults. I don't do 'sides.' I love you both. Also," she shifts, "I worry that if I let you figure this out alone, you're going to convince yourself that you've ruined everything and that you don't deserve good things."

Sirius' chest floods with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for Lily Evans and All That She Is, because the fact that she knows him so well and loves him in spite of all of that takes his breath away. He turns his face into her chest, tears spilling out, and Lily holds him tight and safe and warm.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Sirius plucks up the courage to ask in a small voice, "do you think Moony will forgive me?"

Lily smiles - there's something strange about it that he can't quite place. "In case you hadn't noticed, Remus is pretty sweet on you, Sirius. As long as you apologise and mean it, there's nothing he won't forgive."

For the first time since that god-awful confrontation, Sirius feels the tiniest flare of hope.

(He's going to _fix_ this).

* * *

It's all very well deciding that he will fix this, but the truth is, Sirius has no idea _where_ to start. How does one go about apologising for fucking up _so_ hard?

His instincts tell him to pull a big scene like in the movies - because he's melodramatic to his _core_ \- or to fling himself at Remus' door. The part of him that's pure anxiety murmurs that he should just shut himself away and accept that they will never be friends ever again. Thankfully, Lily won't entertain either option; she talks him down from renting a megaphone and flashmob, and lifts him up from the pits of despair. And then, she pushes him towards James with reassurances that he knows the situation already, and Sirius is a horrible combination of relieved (because _of course_ , James will know how to solve this) and terrified (because there is truly nothing worse than disappointing his best friend, and even though their bond transcends all circumstance and distance, _what if this is it?_ ) -

And so, it's with trepidation that Sirius interrupts James' marking that evening. He stands awkwardly, unsure of how to - or even if he _should_ \- bother him with this, until James sighs, and says without looking up, "are you gonna sit or what?"

Hesitating for another split second, Sirius perches carefully next to James, somewhat reassured by the way James tucks his legs into Sirius' lap.

"Talk to me," James says, and Sirius blows out a breath.

It shakes a little more than he intends it to, and James looks up sharply. "What's up?"

"I think you know."

"I do. But I want to hear you say it."

The caution in his eyes stings a little, but Sirius swallows round the hurt. "I fucked up big time with Remus. And I don't know how to fix it."

James tilts his head, writes ' _C is for CHAMPION_ ' in sparkly gold at the top of the paper, and switches it for a new one. "Have you tried apologising to him?"

"I don't know how to."

James' eyes soften like melting chocolate, and he stretches out a hand to Sirius, interlacing their fingers and tugging Sirius into him. Sirius falls easily into James' arms, his anxiety trickling away as James wraps his arms around him. The paper crumples a bit beneath him, but neither make a move to rescue it.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Sirius murmurs eventually, once the reassurance has taken root.

"I know you didn't mean it," James returns, equally quietly. "But you did hurt him."

Sirius closes his eyes, burrowing his face into James' chest. The shame is making a resurgence, and it's only the warmth of James' arms around him that stop the spiralling guilt.

"What can I do, Padfoot?"

"I just need some advice."

James pops the lid off his gel pen, and begins doodling on Sirius' arm - a sparkly gold daisy chain judging by the shape of the petals. When he finally speaks, he says, "I think… you ought to give Remus some space."

Sirius' dismay is palpable, because he wants to fix this _now._ "But I-"

"It's not as simple as telling him you're sorry. You're his best friend, and you just hurled a load of classist privilege in his face. Let him be mad for as long as he needs."

"But, Prongs-"

"I mean it, Pads. Give him some time. Let him come to you."

"But what if he _doesn't_?"

James looks at him, brushes a curl out of his eyes. "Trust me, love."

"I _do_ ," Sirius says immediately. "I just - I guess, I just don't get it."

James sighs. "I know. Me neither. Because we grew up differently to Remus, and we were privileged enough to never have to worry about money."

Sirius pulls a face, "no, but there were plenty of other things for us to worry about."

James winces. "I'm not saying that. I would never deny that life has been shitty to you. But we didn't have _additional_ struggles because of money. You're not up against mountains of student debt, because your parents had the money to just _pay_ for your tuition. When I was having… issues with my eating, my parents could afford the best psychologists. My family and Lily's helped us to buy this property - they had the means to be able to do that. Remus doesn't have that option. He never has."

Sirius shifts uneasily. These aren't exactly new pieces of information, but there's something intensely uncomfortable about having it all laid out in front of him like this. "I can't help being born into that family."

"I know," James says at once, clasping Sirius' hands in his own. "I know you can't. But - and I say this with all the love in the world, and you know I do - that's not the point."

"But what _is_ the point? I'm offering to _help_ him - I'm… I'm using my _privilege_ for good!"

"But are you though?" James says quietly. "Because from where Remus is standing, it looks like you made a judgement about his life, decided it wasn't good enough, and that you get to choose for him."

Sirius screws his eyes tightly shut, and curses his impulsiveness to hell. The lump in his throat is back, and he knows that if he opens his eyes again, tears will start to trickle out, and _that is not happening._

James continues, his hands tightening around Sirius'. "Do you know why I'm so big on doing my stuff with the kids from disadvantaged backgrounds?"

"Because you have the biggest heart and more empathy than I have in my little finger."

James' mouth twitches. "Because I _can_. Because these kids need it, and our country is still classist and favours the rich, and so until something changes, it's the right thing to do."

(He's right, and Sirius _knows_ he's right, and a small part of him has always know this, ever since the words spilled out of his mouth, even before he caught the hurt disbelief in Remus' eyes).

 _Privilege_ has always left a bitter taste in Sirius' mouth; after all, is it privilege that got him kicked out of his childhood home for something he can't change? Absolutely fucking not. Is it privilege that his mind works against him in truly repugnant and debilitating ways? Like hell, it is. And whilst he knows he's _rich_ , it's always been something he pushed to the back of his mind, with the other thoughts about his family, because acknowledging that wealth meant acknowledging _them_ , and, oh -

He gets it.

"The very fact that I can choose to ignore the fact I'm… _rich_ , and still be fine, is privileged."

James nods gently, hugging Sirius close to his side. "Give Remus some time," he says, and it twists Sirius' heart, but he swallows hard.

"Yeah."

"Once things have calmed down a bit, I'm sure Remus will let you apologise."

"Yeah."

"Wanna help me with my marking?"

Sirius half-shrugs, but accepts the sheaf of papers James thrusts at him. He selects a sparkly scarlet gel pen, and the two of them work in silence for the rest of the night, occasionally chuckling over an outlandish spelling of 'anomaly' or 'subtle.'

* * *

It's a miserable week. Sirius isn't sure how he adapted to living with Remus quite so fast, but now, it's like he's lost something indescribably precious. He keeps turning to _look_ at Remus whenever James does something stupid, there's no low chuckle at his snippy comments when they're watching trashy television, no blankets that smell like Remus flung over the back of the sofa. James is a brilliant cook, and Lily's breakfast fry-ups are legendary, but Sirius low-key misses Remus' _this-is-what-I-have-in-the-fridge-and-I've-bunged-it-in-a-frying-pan-bon-appétit_ approach.

There's just no _sign_ of him and it's _horrible._

That's not to say that he doesn't love James and Lily - _of course he does_ \- but he sort of forgot what it's like to exist around a couple that love each other as much as they do. Not that James and Lily do anything to make him feel left out - _of course they don't_ \- but there's a difference between the way they whisper _I love yous_ to each other, and the ways they say it to Sirius. Nor did he realise just how much he and Remus messaged each other; suddenly the weekly meetings at work are low-key unbearable without Remus' dry wit and impeccable gif usage.

And so the week drags on - painfully, achingly, guiltily - and there is no news from Remus. He knows that both James and Lily have heard from him, but he can't bring himself to ask - because that will only re-open the wound in his heart. Instead, he stocks up a collection of articles and pictures and tumblr shitposts that he wants to share with Remus - and he has to believe that he _will_ fix this, and he _will_ get to share these with Remus. Brendon Urie drops a new single, and Sirius has to hold tight on to all the emotions it makes him feel, because the _first_ person he wants to share it with is Remus.

What he's fast discovering, is that giving someone the space they deserve fucking _sucks_ when you've carved out a space in your own life that they're supposed to slot into.

(But he'll bear it, because he has to, because Remus is _worth it_ ).

* * *

Having friends that will actually call you out when you've been shit is simultaneously a blessing and a curse - and it's time for him to focus on the _blessing_ part. He needs to be _better_ \- that much is becoming clear. And not just for Remus' sake, though that's a big part of it, the catalyst if you will.

More and more, he's realising that the privilege he's swanned through life with (and yes, he's forcing himself to recognise it as _privilege_ ), isn't something he can unlearn overnight. He can make anonymous donations to women's shelters, and he can sponsor a student through Access to Higher Education, and he can apply to volunteer at the foodbank, but he still needs to examine his own biases. It's not a Rich Guilt thing, and it's not to nurse his bruised ego, it's because it _needs_ to be done, and because he can afford to help, and because not everyone is as lucky as he is.

But he's _trying_ and he's getting it, and his newfound realisations only make him cringe harder when he thinks about what he'd said to Remus, because he _gets_ it.

* * *

(One night, in the small hours of the morning, he caves and sends Remus a text - just a simple ' _can we talk_.' He has so much he needs to say and apologise for, and all he needs is the opportunity to do so. Remus doesn't text back).

(Life goes on).

* * *

"-I _know_ \- I _hate_ thinking of Remus being back there."

Lily's vehement voice stops Sirius dead in tracks as he quietly lets himself in from work. Before he can even register what he's doing - before he can think about all the ways he's violating his friends' trust - he positions himself just behind the kitchen door.

Frank's voice is equally fierce: "Big. Fucking. Same. I just wish I knew _why_ he went _there_ of all places-"

"Read it again, James," Lily says, and she sounds _stressed,_ and Sirius can feel his throat closing up because _Lily doesn't stress out._

" _Hey Prongs. Sorry I didn't message before. Head's a mess. I'm at my parent's place, not sure how long I'll be. Love you more_." James' worry is the quiet, seething kind that weaves itself into every word he utters.

"It's the 'not sure how long I'll be' that worries me most," says Lily after a pause.

"No, it's the fact he ever felt like this was an _option_ that worries me," Frank says. " _Why_ the _fuck_ would he go back to a place that nearly killed him?"

"I'm sure he had his reasons," James murmurs, although he couldn't be more unconvincing if he tried. "This thing with Sirius clearly hurt him more than any of us knew."

At the mention of his own name, Sirius flinches. It's like a plaster has been ripped off his bloody wounds, and they immediately begin seeping, pus-like, guilt and self-loathing once more. He is responsible for making Remus flee back to the home that saw him attempt to take his life on more than one occasion? There are no words for the depths of the self-hated that threaten to consume him. He can't stand being himself, he can't stand knowing that Remus is _alone,_ suffering, because of _him._

He's trembling where he stands, and he wants nothing more than to _bring Remus home._ In that moment, he would do _anything_ to have him there - even if Remus is still furious with him, even if he never wants to speak to him again, at least he would be _here_ and _safe_ and-

"Well, except he's clearly _not_ thinking rationally, because he's gone and isolated himself from us all as much as he possibly could have?" Lily's voice cuts across his spiral, and he inhales shakily.

There's another pause, in which Sirius is dizzy with the overwhelming sense of culpability.

Eventually, Frank breaks the anxious silence: "I vote we give it three days. Check in with him every day. If it comes to it, some of us can drive up there and see how he's _actually_ doing."

"Remus is an adult. We have to respect his wishes," says James quietly.

A rustle of fabric, a pad of footsteps - someone moves across the room. "We could have lost him to that hellhole once. I don't want to lose him again."

Sirius swallows hard, staggers backwards. He's heard enough - too much, in fact. He's heard enough to know that, whilst nobody has explicitly blamed him, his friends are all too aware that this is _all_ Sirius' fault.

Guilt does not begin to cover it.

He walks silently back to the front door, and opens and closes it with a bang. The discussion in the kitchen dries up at once, and Sirius feels sick.

"Padfoot?" James calls, "that you?"

Sirius takes a breath and tries to level his voice as much as possible. "Yeah," he shouts back, wincing at the way his voice cracks a little. Before James can say another word, Sirius darts into his room and shuts the door behind him.

Something like nausea rises in his throat, and he retches, only it's not a physical sickness - it's all emotional, it's all hatred and shame and misery, and it's impossible to get it _out_ of him.

Knowing what his parents' home means to Remus, and how much it must cost him to return there voluntarily - it only makes it worse that Sirius has driven him to this. The urge to call Remus is stronger than ever, and Sirius battles with himself, unlocking his phone, hovering over Remus' contact, and locking it again a hundred times over. When the crippling nature of his anxiety has passed, and he's left with its awful wobbliness, he curls up in the fetal position on the floor.

(Remus is never going to be his friend again).

(Sirius can't say he blames him).

* * *

Frank and Remus have an odd sort of friendship; one born out of the necessity of loving Alice, but that has morphed into so much more. Remus treats Frank like the brother he's never had, and in return, Remus is the best of all Frank's seven brothers. Of all of their little group, Sirius probably interacts with Frank least - something he's always intending to rectify but has never quite got round to.

As such, Sirius probably should have anticipated the phone call.

His phone rings just as he's dashing up the steps out of the Tube, and his stomach drops low in his body when he catches the caller ID. For one cowardly, tempting moment, he considers ignoring Frank, but then he remembers his promise to himself to _be better_ , and knows he deserves to listen to Frank's tirade.

"Hey," he answers, aiming for casual, but missing by a mile.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" is how Frank greets him - loud enough through his speaker that heads turn and Sirius winces.

"I _know_ ," he says quickly, and Frank's rant cuts off sharply.

"Go on," Frank says cautiously.

"I fucked up," Sirius says. He recognises that this is his One Chance to convince Frank, and he is determined not to fuck this up. "I really hurt Remus and I said some shitty things, and I'm so _fucking sorry_ , and I - I'm going to make this right."

There's a pause, and Sirius' anxiety churns in his stomach at the length of it. Eventually, Frank sighs, and he sounds like every single second of a gruelling night shift. "So I was gonna rip into you for hurting him and make you understand why it was so shitty." Another sigh. "But it sounds like you're doing that enough for both of us."

Sirius swallows, "I really _am_ sorry, Frank. I'm - I just need to apologise to _him_."

"I know."

Frank's acceptance - usually hard-won, after several gruelling battles with his protectiveness - takes Sirius aback, and Frank continues over Sirius' surprised silence. "I know you meant well, I know you love him, but Sirius - I swear to God, you pull something like this again, and I'll - fuck, I don't even know what I'll do."

Sirius is sort of lost for words - which doesn't happen often - and he doesn't know what to do with this. The fact that Frank forgives Sirius, that he's offering him a second chance, gives him a sliver of hope that Remus will do the same (not least because Frank has a far higher opinion of Remus than he has of himself, and so actually _values_ him).

"Kingsley's having a get-together at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow night. Word on the street is that Remus will be there." Frank's words are careful and measured, but Sirius' heart leaps like he'd yelled it. "Sirius, he - he really, really cares about you. I mean it - don't hurt him again."

"I won't - I-"

"Don't make a promise you can't keep."

"I won't hurt him."

(And he's never meant anything more).

* * *

Sirius is a bundle of nerves at the pub the following evening. Sandwiched between James and Alice, he's attempting to focus on the conversation happening around him, and not on the fact that there's an empty seat directly opposite, where Remus will soon be sitting. He's been nursing the same lemonade for so long that the ice has entirely melted and the liquid is unpleasantly tepid, but he's distracted by reading and re-reading Remus' two-word response.

( _Yes, when?_ , and Sirius must have typed out a hundred different responses without sending a single one. He can't even fully explain _why_ he hasn't responded, other than that his anxiety is sky-high, and his fingers are shaking too hard to be coherent).

Around him, his friends are chatting and exchanging news like any other pub meet. From snatches of conversation, it seems that the Big News of the night is that Gideon, who will be back from Scotland any day now, is planning a ceilidh to celebrate his top surgery and raise money for Mermaids. It's great news - brilliant, in fact - but Sirius' anxious brain is racing, on a one-track course to Remus. James tries to drag him into sharing the news of Marlene's return in March, but his heart's not in it (because it's entirely Remus' and that is all he can think about).

He's rehearsing what he's going to say _again_ , when the door to the pub swings open, and Sirius battles with himself to prevent his body from standing to attention, meerkat-style. Remus hurries through.

Sirius' heart thumps painfully fast.

Their eyes meet across the room, like a fucking movie, and Sirius' heart stutters. He seems tired - the dark circles beneath his eyes and the slump of his shoulders send stirrings of guilt through Sirius, but he's also smiling slightly, eyes lighting up as his friends stand to greet him.

"Sorry I'm late," Remus says, and though it's clearly addressed to the whole group, he's looking right at Sirius. Sirius smiles tentatively, and Remus mouth twists into something shy and a little unsure.

(The anxiety retreats ever so slightly. Enough that Sirius can take his first full breath in what feels like forever).

Another round of drinks is ordered, and the group hasten to catch Remus up on everything he's missed so far and inquire about his time away. Remus, uncomfortable as ever with being the centre of attention, does his best to deflect it away. All in all, the next thirty minutes are agonising; Remus takes a seat, and Sirius has to endure an eternity of _waiting_ , before the opportunity for them to actually _interact_ presents itself.

(When it finally does, Sirius sort of wants to punch himself in the face for making it so _awkward_ between them).

(He's also horribly aware that it's low-key torturous how much Sirius _likes_ the way Remus looks in _his_ leather jacket).

Remus leaves with Kingsley, and Sirius is frozen in his seat, too busy fighting his mortification and pleasure to register that _this is his chance, here, now_. It takes James clearing his throat meaningfully for him to move.

The anxiety swells with every step he takes, but he pushes past it, past Kingsley as he returns, past the heavy swing door.

It's show-time.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

\- wow i am the Worst, imagine not updating for months, only to dedicate a whole chapter to getting your characters to the exact same point to further draw out the angst wow.  
\- every single word of this chapter was a battle, and if it feels like it's been pulled apart and sewn back together wrong, that's because it has! I would like to formally apologise because I know it's shit!  
\- Mermaids is an awesome charity doing awesome work. If you are able, they would gratefully receive your support.  
\- fun fact: my friend eats (smooth) peanut butter during their ulcerative colitis flare ups, apparently it helps! I'm rly allergic to peanuts so I can't be around them when this happens! Ofc their experience of UC is not everyone's.

questions/requests, or if you just wanna chat? pls hit me up on tumblr (little-old-rachel) or twitter ( littleoldrachel), or on here to get in touch!

love always & take care xoxo


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